


These Three Worn Words

by moodlighting



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 2018 Winter Olympics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Angst, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Insomnia, Misunderstandings, Morning Sex, One Night Stands, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Sick Fic, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-04-24 00:38:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14344296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodlighting/pseuds/moodlighting
Summary: ...I just want to love you in my own language.A series of standalone works, each based on a suggestion from the prompt"One Hundred Ways to Say I Love You"





	1. Sorry I'm Late

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I can guarantee you from the outset that I will not actually be writing 100 of these bad boys. This is first and foremost a challenge I've set for myself to try and write faster and more efficiently. My goal is for most of these works to be short one-shots that only take me a day or two to finish, which is definitely outside of my comfort zone. Given this, I'm not guaranteeing Grade A quality in every chapter, lmfao. 
> 
> I intend to write as many stories as I can before I run out of ideas, inspiration, or inevitably time when I start law school this fall - whichever comes first. I'm also not writing ahead or on any set timeline, so new chapters will become available as soon as they are finished. 
> 
> Finally, all that follows is false and should not be taken as a reflection of the real lives or relationships of Tessa Virtue or Scott Moir.
> 
> Title and summary line borrowed from "3WW" by alt-j

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Meeting/Double Date AU. 2.5k

He’s handsome, and she likes his smile. They flirt for weeks before he finally asks her out. “We should get dinner sometime,” he says casually one day as they both poke at their salads. They take their lunch breaks together sometimes. “I could talk to Ali, from second floor. We could do a double date?”

She thinks it seems like an odd suggestion for a first date. She doesn’t know Ali at all. But Tessa’s still new to the city, trying to find her footing and make friends, so she doesn’t question it. It wouldn’t hurt to get to know Ali and her partner, she figures. Maybe they’d be fast friends? Tessa and Jonathan don’t know each other all that well either. She assumes that Jonathan, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable, has included another couple in the mix to ease some of the pressure and keep things casual. Tessa appreciates that.

When she agrees, he smiles that crooked smile at her.

“Great!” he says. “Meet at The Rosewood, Friday at seven?”

“Sounds good,” Tessa smiles.

She’s excited about the date. Jonathan isn’t the type of guy she’d normally go out with, but they clicked from her very first day at the office, when he came down from the IT department to set up her workstation. She genuinely likes him a lot, and Tessa has grown tired of the endless first dates with guys she has no interest in. Dates that lead nowhere.

This, though. This she can see going somewhere.

Tessa’s the first to arrive on Friday night. The restaurant Jonathan chose is nice but not too upscale. She’d been looking for a reason to wear the new white jumpsuit she’d bought, and she’s glad she decided to wear her white sneakers with it instead of heels. Even now, she feels a little overdressed. She should’ve read more Google reviews about the place before picking an outfit.

She orders a glass of water when the server comes by, not wanting to get too ahead of herself before everyone else arrives. The place is already pretty busy, and from where their table is situated by the front doors, she can see a small crowd beginning to gather, waiting for a table to open up. Tessa’s glad Jonathan thought ahead to make a reservation.

She sits alone for fifteen minutes, with nothing to do but sip at her water and check her phone. Tessa chews at her lip, feeling more and more anxious the longer she waits. She’s beginning to think she might’ve gone to the wrong restaurant when she sees Jonathan’s familiar face appear around the corner. She smiles and sits up in her seat, waving him over.

A pretty blonde woman walks close behind him. Tessa assumes she’s just another guest being led to her seat, but she follows him all the way to their table and pulls out one of the chairs.

“Tessa!” Jonathan greets loudly, spreading his arms wide. Tessa gets up to hug him, awkwardly patting at his back, her eyes meeting the other woman’s over his shoulder. She should’ve ordered a real drink, Tessa thinks. Jonathan’s clearly had a few already himself - she can smell the whiskey on his breath.

Jonathan pulls away to get a look at her. “You clean up nice, girl!” Then, glancing at the empty seat next to the one Tessa just vacated, he asks, “Where’s your date?”

The music continues to play overhead and the gathering crowd is loud on the other side of their table, but the second the words leave his mouth, the record of ambient noise seems to scratch to a halt around Tessa.

“What?” she says softly.

“This is Ali,” Jonathan says, gesturing to the woman beside him. “My date.”

Ali, to her credit, looks as confused as Tessa feels. Glancing around the room, Tessa searches valiantly for the punch line.

Jonathan looks between them. “I thought we were doing a double date. Did you forget to bring yours, Tessa?” he laughs. Focusing on Tessa’s bewildered expression, his smirk then turns mean. “ _Ohhh_ , you didn’t think I was bringing _you_ , did you?”

Tessa stares at him. “But you said…” she trails off.

She thinks back on their interactions, the lunch they shared earlier in the week when he suggested the double date. She knows she didn’t misunderstand his intentions.

Then the realization strikes her: _Tessa_ is the punch line.

Hot embarrassment immediately flushes across her cheeks. Jonathan starts to cackle, like this is the funniest moment he’s ever orchestrated, stumbling back and supporting his weight against his chair. Tessa swallows harshly, setting her jaw against the hurt opening up inside her chest. Her eyes burn but she refuses to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

By now Ali seems to have picked up on the twisted scheme she’s been made a part of. “God, Jonathan,” she seethes. “You’re such a prick.” With an apologetic look in Tessa’s direction, she shifts her purse higher on her shoulder and stalks off in the direction of the bathroom.

Tessa, still fighting tears, standing at a loss while Jonathan nearly busts a lung laughing at her, works frantically to try and come up with her own dignified exit strategy. Then a hand settles carefully at the small of her back.

“Hey babe, sorry I’m late.”

* * *

Scott is silently cursing out Chiddy for not bothering to make a reservation for boys’ night like he told him to _a week ago_ when he sees her. She’s sitting alone at the table near where he and the rest of the guys are stuck waiting in the lobby, bickering about who has to hold the buzzer. There are three other menus at her table so she’s clearly not here by herself, but it seems like she’s been waiting alone for a while based on how nervous she looks.

She’s dressed immaculately in white with sneakers to match, her dark hair pulled up. She toys with the ends of it distractedly, her eyes casting about the restaurant, presumably searching for her other guests. She’s beautiful, Scott thinks.

She’s also infinitely more interesting than the pointless argument his friends are having, so he’s still half paying attention to her when two other people eventually arrive at her table. He watches the situation between them unfold, picking up most of the their conversation from where he’s standing nearby. He feels a little guilty about eavesdropping until he realizes what it is he’s witnessing. Until he sees the moment the beautiful girl’s entire face falls.

Scott’s jaw clenches, a sudden wave of anger overtaking him. He hears “you’re such a prick” from the second woman, and Scott can’t help but agree. The guy’s a fucking asshole, manipulating these girls for his own sick amusement. The blonde rightfully stomps away from him, leaving the other woman alone to deal with her shitty date. Scott decides that just won’t do it all.

“Be right back,” he mutters to Chiddy and sets off toward the dining room.

He’s not thinking so much as acting on instinct as he approaches the table. The asshole is still laughing at his own cruel joke as he steps up behind the dark-haired woman. Carefully, not wanting to startle her, he settles a hand on her back.

“Hey babe, sorry I’m late,” Scott says.

Her head snaps in his direction, and she meets his gaze. Her eyes are green, gorgeous green. He winks, nodding his head minutely at her, as if to say, _just go with it_.

“Who’s your friend?” Scott smiles, and it feels a bit dangerous.

The asshole, whose laughter evaporated as soon as Scott arrived at their table, stares at him contemptuously.

“Who the hell is he?” he directs at the woman.

“Oh, _Jonathan_ ,” she inserts pointedly. “This is, uh, this is…” she turns to Scott again, looking for an assist.

“Scott,” he offers, holding his hand out to Jonathan with another false smile.

“My boyfriend,” she adds.

The man scowls deeply but takes Scott’s hand.

Scott squeezes it as hard as he can. He feels Jonathan’s knuckles grind harshly together in his grip. “And I think it’s about time for you to leave, don’t you think, Jonathan?” he suggests darkly.

Jonathan yelps in pain, his eyes wide and surprised when he looks to the woman at Scott’s side. “What the fuck?” he gasps.

She’s smiling now too. She just shrugs in response.

Scott releases Jonathan’s hand and he stumbles back, holding his palm against his chest like he’s been severely wounded. He seems to consider retaliating, eyes flicking between her and Scott. In the end, he apparently decides against it.

“Christ, dude," he mutters. "It was just a joke."

“It could use some work,” Scott retorts.

“Whatever. Fuck you guys,” Jonathan slurs with finality and marches away toward the exit.

Scott releases a long, slow breath. He never even considered what he might do if his little intervention went south. He’s shaken out of his momentary relief, however, when to his right, the girl groans loudly and slips out of Scott’s hold, sinking unceremoniously back down into her seat. She holds her face in both of her hands.

Nervously, Scott lowers himself to sit sideways in the seat beside her. He drapes his arm around the back of her chair, conscious not to touch her again without permission now that the crisis has been averted.

“Are you okay?” he asks, attempting to peer around her hands to get a look at her face.

She scrubs her hands down her cheeks, turning to him with watery, red eyes and flushed cheeks. “This is so embarrassing,” she says.

“Yeah, for _him_ ,” Scott replies. “What a fucking asshole.”

That seems to cheer her up, a short laugh breaking through the misery warping her expression. She lowers her head, smoothing her palms across her hair and through her ponytail, composing herself. She meets Scott’s gaze again.

“Thanks for that,” she tells him, her voice earnest. “Seriously. You’re a lifesaver.”

Scott shrugs, waving off her compliment. “Anyone would’ve done the same.”

Her eyes purposefully follow the length of the dining room, full of bystanders, before returning to him. “Clearly not,” she points out.

Scott can only shrug again, sheepish, not knowing what to say.

They gaze at each other for a long moment. Then she says, “I’m Tessa, by the way.”

“Scott,” he answers with a smile.

* * *

Her disastrous double date has taken an unexpected turn for the better, Tessa can’t help but think as she tries to catch her breath. Ali seems just as surprised as she is when she returns from the bathroom to find Tessa and some random guy in a fit of laughter together, Jonathan nowhere to be found.

It’s Ali clearing her throat above them that finally brings Tessa around, her laughter fading away as she works to compose herself.

Ali looks distinctly uncomfortable when their eyes meet. “I’m so sorry about Jonathan,” she says in a rush. “I had no idea that he -”

“Oh my gosh, it’s totally okay,” Tessa interrupts, reaching for her hand. She gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t even worry about it. I didn’t think you had anything to do with it. This is Scott, by the way,” she adds, gesturing to him. “He came over here and pretended to be my boyfriend. Scared Jonathan right off.”

That makes Ali laugh. “Good for you,” she chuckles. “He’s such a pussy.”

Scott grins at her. At the sight of his big, goofy smile, Tessa feels her own lips turning helplessly up.

She only manages to look away from him when Ali clears her throat again. “Well, I think I’m going to head out…” she trails off pointedly, glancing between them. “This night has been kind of a bust.”

“Oh, you don’t have to!” Tessa says. She holds up her glass of cabernet. “Let me buy you a drink, I think we deserve it after -”

“Thank you,” Ali says sincerely. “Really, that’s so nice of you, but I think I’m just going to get home.” She smiles at the two of them. “You guys have fun though. And I’ll see you at the office on Monday, Tessa?”

“Yes, of course,” Tessa smiles back. “See you then.”

She heads toward the exit, only to stop and turn around again. “And we should definitely get drinks together sometime,” Ali suggests. “For real though, no shitty double dates or asshole Jonathan.”

Tessa laughs with her. “Absolutely,” she agrees.

They wave goodbye to each other. When Tessa returns her attention Scott, she finds him gazing at her with a small smile on his face. Her heart flip flops inside her chest, and that’s when she realizes she’s probably keeping Scott from his own dinner.

She’s only had half a glass of wine, but she still has to shake her head in order to clear it. “Sorry about all this,” she says, frowning. “I didn’t mean to hold you up. You probably have your own date to get back to -”

“Nah, just those bunch of losers,” Scott says. He gestures over her shoulder to where his group has apparently been seated.

Tessa glances behind her, where she finds a large table of guys staring back at the two of them, waggling their fingers and making kissy sounds in their direction. It makes her burst into laughter.

“You’re much nicer anyway,” Scott says, wrinkling his nose up at them. Turning around, he settles more fully into his seat and reaches for one of the abandoned menus. “Anyway, do you still want to get a bite to eat?" he asks. "On me. It's the least I can do to help make up for a bad date.”

She considers it for a moment. While it seems foolish to swap her dinner plans (and date) like this at a moment’s notice, Tessa means it when she says, “I’d like that.” She smiles at him.

He smiles back. “Good,” he says, “Because I’m starving.”

They place their orders. Tessa thinks it should be weird, sitting so comfortably next to this complete stranger after what just happened. Scott could very well be taking her for a ride the same way Jonathan was - just because he stepped in does not necessarily make him immediately deserving of her trust. She studies the side of his face, watching him as he studiously folds a cloth napkin into a floppy fan and deposits it into one of the empty glasses, so friendly and open as he talks to her. Tessa doesn’t know a single thing about him, not even his last name, but even so, she just can’t envision Scott treating anyone so poorly.

Tessa doesn’t know anything about him - only that she wants to get to know him better. And as they laugh easily together, his arm loose around the back of her chair, her body easing into the space they share, Tessa decides there’s no better way this night could have gone than with Scott being the person to end up in the seat next to her.


	2. Here, Drink This. You'll Feel Better / You're Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sick Fic. 1.3k

Tessa can hear The Shopping Channel still playing in the living room as soon as she walks through the front door. Propping herself up against the wall, she works her gym shoes off her feet and tiptoes down the hall to the laundry room, dropping off her sweaty socks and dumping the rest of her workout bag into the dirty hamper. As quietly as she can, she moves to the kitchen to refill her water bottle, running the faucet gently. From the sink, Tessa can see Scott where he’s curled up on the couch, having hardly moved from the position she left him in earlier that morning. He looks disheveled and decidedly pathetic, surrounded by used tissues scattered across the carpet, a half empty bottle of cough syrup waiting for him on the coffee table.

He must really be sick if he never mustered the strength to even change the channel, Tessa thinks. Sipping her water slowly, she rummages through the kitchen cabinets for anything he might be willing to eat in his current state. She finds a can of soup for later and a box of saltines that expired five months ago. The package was never opened, so she figures they’ll still be good. Scott won’t be able to taste them anyway.

She heats up a cup of tea for him and adds a generous pour of honey, the spoon clinking rhythmically against the ceramic as she stirs it in. She puts the dishes in the drying rack away while she waits for the mug to cool, listening to The Shopping Channel presenters try their best to sell her a set of knives from the next room. When the last of the silverware has been sorted, Tessa gathers the cinnamon applesauce she found at the bottom of the fridge, Scott’s next dose of meds, the hot tea, and her courage, then forges ahead into Scott’s self-imposed quarantine space.

He looks completely miserable, staring vacantly at the television, eyes glazed over, two rolled-up tissues shoved into each of his nostrils. It’s heartbreaking, really. Tessa tries her best not to laugh at what a sad sight he makes. She mostly succeeds.

“How are you doing?” she asks, clearing a space on the coffee table for all of her supplies.

Scott only groans in response, head lolling weakly back against the pillow to look up at her.

Tessa holds out the steaming cup to him. “Here. Drink this,” she directs. “You’ll feel better.”

Another groan. Feebly, Scott works himself into a sitting position, untangling his hands from the mountain of throws he’s cocooned himself in. He removes his crude snot plugs and tosses them aside before carefully taking the tea with both hands.

“Doubtful,” he rasps, his voice wrecked from coughing. He blows across the surface of the tea then takes a delicate sip. Winces. “Think you need to start looking for a new partner, T,” he goes on to say. “M’not sure I’m going to make it.”

Tessa drops onto the couch next to him. “Oh, would you relax?” she laughs. “It’s just the flu, you big baby.”

Sick Scott, as Tessa has learned over the years, is an absolutely useless version of Scott. She can’t even imagine what he’d be like on the ice in this sort of condition - he’s never actually made it that far before. As soon as he develops so much as a cold, Scott is out for the count, setting up shop on the nearest available soft surface and refusing to move until whatever is ailing him has subsided.

For anyone else, taking care of a sick Scott would be an insufferable chore - Tessa would need both hands to count how many in their circle would flat out refuse to do it. But Tessa doesn’t mind looking after him, she finds. Sure, he gets maudlin and more than a little irritable, but Tessa knows it’s only because he feels so shitty and can’t make himself better fast enough. She knows he needs someone to keep him company, some kind of mental stimulation so he doesn’t completely lose it. Sick Scott would be climbing the walls out of sheer boredom after one day of being bed- or couch-ridden by himself, if only he had the energy to do so.

Next to her, Scott swallows harshly against another gulp of tea. Even outwardly, it looks painful. “Hurts my Scott’s apple, Tess,” he whines, rubbing delicately at his throat.

Tessa can’t help but laugh at the inside joke. “Still just called an Adam’s apple,” she corrects patiently, if only to make him smile too.

He does.

Reaching out, she straightens the hood of his sweatshirt and readjusts the blanket draped across his shoulders, tucking it more fully around him. Two days worth of bed head has his hair sticking up in every direction, and Tessa smooths a few stray strands away from his forehead to rest her palm across his clammy skin there. Scott closes his eyes, turning into her touch.

She frowns. “You’re warm,” she says.

“I’m freezing, actually,” Scott mumbles.

Carefully, Tessa traces her hand down to his cheek, feeling the heat radiating from his flushed skin.

“When was the last time you took something for the fever?” she asks.

“Hour and a half ago,” Scott reports diligently.

Not time for more yet, then. Tessa frowns again. Something else will have to do for now. Mindful of the hot tea he’s still holding, Tessa moves in even closer, wrapping her arms around him fully and drawing him into her side. Even through all of his layers she can feel his body trembling with chills. Scott sighs softly, relaxing into her. He lets his head drop and nestles in close, pressing his nose to the dip of her shoulder. He still hasn’t opened his eyes.

Settling in with him, Tessa rests the side of her head against his, like they’ve done so many times before, standing on a podium together. Now, however, the enveloping cold of the ice rink is absent. There are no anthems playing either, and no medals around their necks. There’s just the two of them, warm and together.

Tessa hates to see Scott so miserable, feeling weak and worthless, hurting and frustrated by his own body. But at the same time, this is a side of Scott Tessa can’t help but enjoy. He’s always been tactile with her, always so doting and affectionate, but like this, he’s downright cuddly. Now, Scott seeks out the comfort of her touch like it’s what he needs to make it through. And as she runs her fingers through his hair, gently separating the waves, soothing, Tessa wishes her love was all it would take to make him feel better again.

She knows it’s not enough, but that won’t stop her from trying. She kisses the top of his head and Scott hums sleepily in response. Laughably, even though it’s only been a few days, Tessa already misses kissing him for real.

Kissing is another thing sick Scott refuses to do, in addition to attending skating practice, dressing in fabrics that aren’t cotton, and apparently, staying upright long enough to fetch the TV remote. His no kissing rule would be a reasonable, Tessa thinks, if only her constant proximity to him won’t have her laid out with the same bug by next week. Still, she appreciates his concern for her health.

For a long stretch, only the endless stream of The Shopping Network ads fills the room around them. Tessa is beginning to think Scott has actually fallen asleep on her when he finally speaks up again. “Thanks for hanging out with me today,” he says quietly against her shoulder.

“Of course,” Tessa murmurs back. “No place I’d rather be.”

Scott chuckles weakly. “Liar.”

She repositions her cheek more comfortably against him, smiling. “In sickness and in health, right?”

Scott doesn’t say anything more, simply taking Tessa’s hand from her lap and holding it in his own. Where the metal sits skin-warm on her ring finger, Scott turns the band around and around between his fingertips, slowly, thoughtlessly, until finally, he surrenders to sleep at her side.


	3. Can I Kiss You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One Night Stand/Snowed In AU. 3.5k

It’s the absence of sound that wakes him. The blanket of silence surrounding him feels...off, somehow. Distracting. Grudgingly, Scott blinks open his eyes. He’s met only by the sight of his ceiling fan, circling lazily above him. He frowns up at it. Nothing _seems_ to be out of place. On his back, the sheets gathered at his waist, he lies there in confused silence for another minute, listening intently for whatever sound has apparently gone missing. He hears the familiar, distant _clunk_ of the drainpipes, the sound of water dripping in the tub, and that’s when it registers. On the other side of his bedroom wall, the shower has stopped running.

It’s certainly not a sound he would expect to hear early on a Saturday morning in the apartment he lives in alone. Then he remembers - he wasn’t alone last night.

Which means she must still be here.

Scott immediately launches out of bed at the realization, almost falling over himself in his hurry to untangle himself from the sheets. Still naked from the night before, he lunges for the nearest clean clothes, silently hoping they match, and dresses in a rush. He stumbles over to the mirror, where he licks his palms and attempts to smooth down the hair sticking up at the back of his head. It doesn’t really work. He takes a deep breath. Composing himself, Scott straightens his shoulders and does his best to at least _appear_ nonchalant. That doesn’t really work either. His shirt is inside out.

Giving up on appearances, Scott surrenders the rest of his dignity and creeps over to the bedroom door. He realizes he’s sneaking around his own apartment, like a dumbass, doing reconnaissance on a woman he’s already slept with, but he can’t seem to stop himself.

He peers around the corner and finds her in the living room, standing by the window, a slim figure silhouetted by the cool morning light.

She _is_ still here.

Gathering as much charm as he can muster this early in the day, Scott straightens his shirt one last time and steps out from behind the door.

He clears his throat quietly. “Hi?” Scott announces himself.

She starts, whirling to face him. Her hair is wet from the shower, falling in dark waves around her shoulders, and her skin is clean and bare, still rosy from the hot water. She’s just as gorgeous as she was the night before, so beautiful Scott feels lucky just to be in the same room as her.

“Hi,” she echoes, voice pitched high in obvious discomfort.

They gaze at each other for a long moment, both sizing each other up again in the light of the morning after. Nervously, the woman - _Tessa_ , Scott’s brain supplies, out of the dregs of last night’s memories - gathers her hair and pulls it to one shoulder. When her hand comes back wet, she looks down at it, as if surprised.

“Oh,” she says. “Sorry, I hope it’s okay that I used your shower?”

To which Scott opens his mouth and replies with, “You’re still here.”

She visibly cringes. Scott could kick himself, honestly. Normally he’s not one to point out when one of the finer rules of a one night stand has been broken, but he is fairly certain that’s what this was when they’d left the club together last night. Now he sounds like he’s about to throw her out of his apartment over a fucking breach of contract or something. Christ, he can be such an ass sometimes.

“No, I meant -” Scott rushes to correct himself.

At the same time Tessa says, “You haven’t checked your phone, have you?”

That stops him short. “Wait, what?”

“The blizzard?” she says questioningly. She points out the window to her right.

Confused, he crosses the room to stand beside her. On the other side of the glass, the entire world has indeed gone white. The sky above is an angry, roiling shade of gray, the snow falling heavily as the fierce wind whips it in severe, horizontal lines. Scott can hardly see the cars parked below, their hoods covered in a deep layer of white. The street in front of his building, usually busy, is completely devoid of moving traffic. Only a single set of tire tracks appears to have bravely forged the way through the drifts.

“Whoa,” Scott breathes.

Tessa raises her phone, reading an alert from the screen. “We’re under a no travel advisory. They’re towing cars and ticketing anyone who goes out in the storm,” she says. “Public transportation has been shut down until noon tomorrow. Emergency personnel only.”

“Shit,” Scott replies, his eyebrows turning up.

Next to him, Tessa clears her throat uncomfortably. “If you know of like, a coffee shop or something nearby, somewhere I can hang out until the storm passes, I can walk over there and -”

“Hold on, you actually want to go _out_ in this?” Scott asks in disbelief.

“Well,” Tessa answers haltingly. “I can’t get to my car, and the buses aren’t running. I don’t want to impose, so I’m going to have to go somewhere...”

It takes Scott a moment to comprehend what exactly it is she’s suggesting. “You don’t have to go,” he interjects.

Tessa laughs darkly. “A minute ago you were asking why I was still here.”

Scott groans. “Come on, it’s so early,” he pouts at her. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m hardly even awake. Of course you don’t have to leave.”

She doesn’t seem convinced. Her bright green eyes narrow at him, like she’s now trying to decide if he’s propositioning her.

Scott realizes why it might seem that way. He holds up his hands defensively. “No obligations though. Honest to god, I’ll go hang out in my room, you can have the rest of the place to yourself.” Scott pauses. “Well, the bathroom will have to be communal, but other than that it’ll be like I’m not even here. We can pretend nothing ever happened.”

Tessa searches his face.

Gently, Scott says again, “Please. You don’t have to go, not when it’s not safe.”

She seems to consider it. Turning to the window, she watches the snow fall for a beat, then turns back around to face him. “Fine. Okay,” Tessa says. “But you don’t have to stay in your room, Scott,” she laughs, rolling her eyes. “We are grown-ups.”

Scott grins at her. “All right then,” he nods.

She bumps her bare shoulder into his, in a brief moment of shared humor. She’s changed back into the dress she was wearing the night before, Scott realizes, which now seems incredibly weather inappropriate, given the amount of skin she’s showing in their current conditions. Valiantly not thinking about the ways in which he helped her out of that same dress only a few hours ago, Scott says, “Um. Do you want something more comfortable to wear?” He thumbs over his shoulder in the direction of his bedroom. “I’ve got some sweats that would probably fit you -”

Tessa’s entire body visibly sinks, her eyes slipping shut in relief. “Oh my god, I would love that,” she says, sagging against the windowsill. “I hate this thing.”

Scott laughs. He reaches out and touches her elbow, friendly. “Be right back,” he says, and hurries back to his room.

When she steps out of the bathroom a few minutes later, dressed head to toe in his clothes, looking very much like she belongs in them, Scott does his best to breathe normally and not outwardly react. He thinks he manages it somewhat successfully. He stays seated in one corner of the couch, wracking his brain trying to figure out what the hell they’re going to do all day as Tessa crosses the room and sits down on the opposite side. She settles quietly against the pillows. Whatever easy banter they’d fallen into before is distinctly absent now. Neither one of them says anything, and the silence between them immediately turns stifling.

“So…” Tessa says, lips pursed, avoiding his eyes.

Scott sighs. Something’s gonna have to give if they’re going to spend the next thirty-six hours together in relative normalcy.

“Look,” he says. “Can we just acknowledge that this is an awkward situation and agree not to feel awkward about it?”

They’ve seen each other naked and they fucked and they don’t know anything about each other. They hooked up. The emotional intimacy that often comes with sex doesn’t exist between them in any way, only the knowledge of what it takes to make the other come, and it’s never felt more painfully evident than it does in this moment.

“It’s awkward,” Scott continues to say. “It’s _really_ awkward. But can’t we just...skip past that part?” He turns to meet her gaze. “Otherwise I might die.”

Tessa struggles to hold back her laughter but can’t help but sputter at his outright honesty, giving in and throwing her head back against the couch. Scott smiles back at her, a bit embarrassed but altogether true. In that moment, it already feels like the taut line of awkward tension between them has begun to give way to something warmer, more companionable.

“All right,” Tessa says as her laughter dies down. “I’ll try my best.”

“Okay,” Scott says, bobbing his head in agreement.

He non-platonically admires her one last time, heart-stoppingly beautiful as she grins, dressed in his clothes, then sets each and every one those feelings purposefully aside.

“So,” Scott says then, running his fingers through his hair. “What do you want to do?”

Tessa tilts her head, ruminating on it. What she comes back with is, “Do you have any flour?”

* * *

In hindsight, Scott should have realized he was in trouble the moment he first heard Tessa’s real laugh, loud and unabashed. It’s a real honker of a laugh, something he wouldn’t have expected from someone as poised and put together as Tessa. Then again, maybe she’s not.

The elastic ankles of his sweatpants - already too large on her - have rolled up to her calves, making the pant legs billow around Tessa’s legs like cartoon genie pants. She’s got the sleeves of his sweatshirt pushed to her elbows, all of her hair tied into one impossible knot at the top of her head, and dry ingredients strewn across the entirety of Scott’s kitchen and herself. She’s a vision in mismatched gray cotton and all-purpose flour.

“How are you so bad at this?” Scott asks, dumbfounded. He’s been watching the massacre take place from the relative safety of the other side of the counter, where he’s already neatly zested and juiced a lemon. “Isn’t it like, your job as a baker to...I don’t know. Bake things?”

“Technically I’m a pastry chef,” Tessa corrects. “In training. And it’s not my fault your workspace is too small.”

“Hey now,” Scott scowls. “This was your idea.”

Tessa just looks up and beams at him in return, innocently dolloping another scoop of batter into the paper muffin cup.

Scott’s heart flutters, tripping over itself inside his chest. The feelings he’s been decidedly ignoring up until now have already come dangerously close to what he might describe as ‘fond.’ Watching Tessa bop around his kitchen, humming along to the music as they make breakfast together, doesn’t seem to be helping matters any. He’d picked the most innocuous-sounding Spotify playlist he could find to help alleviate any further awkward silences between them, but now Scott can’t help but feel he’d inadvertently shot himself in the foot instead.

He’s been quashing the impulse to walk up behind her and hug her body to his for the last fifteen minutes.

Heroically, Scott stays on his side of the counter long enough for all of the lemon muffins to make it in and out of the oven. Tessa prepares a powdered sugar glaze as they chat idly, which Scott spoons over the crumbly tops once they’ve cooled. They eat the muffins together straight from the pan, splitting them open with their fingers to melt a pad of butter between the still-warm halves.

“These are _so good_ ,” Scott announces loudly, shoving most of a second muffin into his mouth.

Tessa smiles demurely at him, pinching off another polite bite of her own muffin. “Good. Don’t ever question my methods again.”

Scott can only offer her a blissful salute, leaning far back in his seat as he savors his mouthful of lemony cake.

A long, thoughtful moment passes before Tessa continues. “My mom was the one who stayed home with us on snow days,” she says. “Me and my sister always used to bake with her.”

Scott glances over at her, smiles softly. “Pretty sure my mom sent me and my brothers out of the house and didn’t let us back in until it stopped snowing.”

Next to him, Tessa throws her head back to laugh again, so bright and genuine. Scott can’t bring himself to look away.

He clears his throat. “You just have the one sister then?” he questions.

“I’m the youngest of four, actually. One older sister and two brothers,” Tessa says. “What about you?”

“Two older brothers. Unfortunately.” Scott says dryly. “I distinctly remember them tossing me into snow banks on days like today.”

Tessa giggles again, her eyes sparkling under the kitchen lights. “Well I hope today turns out better for you than that,” Tessa says.

Already, it’s no competition. “I don’t think you could toss me anyway,” Scott replies, flippant.

Tessa raises her eyebrows at him. “I’m stronger than I look.”

Scott swallows forcefully past the sudden catch in his throat, quickly shutting down the memories from last night his brain tries to conjure up in response. Aggressively course correcting back into more wholesome territory, Scott blurts, “Do you like parcheesi?”

* * *

Tessa beats him three to two in the parcheesi marathon, but Scott bankrupts her with back-to-back hotels in their knock-down, drag-out, afternoon-long game of Monopoly. In the end, they call it a draw. Their legs are stiff and creaky when they finally pick themselves up from the floor, where they’ve been sprawled across the carpet for hours now, the TV murmuring quietly in the background. Scott thinks they’ve both consumed enough crappy daytime television to last them until the next big snowstorm.

It’s the best day he’s had in months. He’s close to thirty and he’s been playing board games all day with the girl he’s about ready to admit he has a crush on. It should feel childish, but instead it’s just...fun. _Tessa_ is fun. She’s quick to laugh and has a goofy personality that’s becoming more and more evident by the hour. She’s sweet and sincere and so much smarter than him. Scott can’t even begin to comprehend how he managed to take her home when Tessa is so clearly out of his league.

His one night stand has evolved into a one night and one day stand, and Scott isn’t ready to watch Tessa leave when it inevitably ends.

For now though, she’s still here, curled up on his couch, fast asleep. It took about five minutes for her to pass out on the chaise of his sectional after she asked whether he cared if she was boring and took a nap. He was more than supportive of the idea, and would’ve settled in for a nice afternoon nap himself if he didn’t have work he should be doing instead. His laptop, open across his legs, is still being thoroughly ignored, however.

Even asleep, Tessa is infinitely more interesting than a blinking cursor. She’d finally freed her hair from its mess of a bun before she went to sleep, and she’s close enough to him now that he can smell the shampoo she’d used earlier that morning, the kind he bought for a dollar last week. She’s facing him, breathing softly, her arms outstretched onto his side of the sofa. Her hands are lying distractingly close to his hip, her fingers curled up loosely into her palm, and Scott can’t stop thinking about folding his hand into hers like some kind of lovestruck teenager.

It’s embarrassing. Scott shakes his head to clear it. _Get a fucking grip,_ he thinks to himself. Effortfully, he pulls his gaze away from Tessa and back to his laptop screen.

He types as quietly as he can for the next hour, careful not to disturb Tessa, mumbling in her sleep next to him. He refuses to let himself stare at her like a creep. Only when he gets up to start dinner does Scott allow himself the small indulgence of adjusting the blanket around her shoulders.

He’s just arranging the last layer of lasagna noodles into the pan when she shuffles into the kitchen after him a while later. Scott turns to smile at her in greeting, but forgets to move his face at all when he finds her closer than expected. Settling against the counter by his elbow, she has the blanket wrapped around her like a cape, pillow creases still visible across her cheek, looking rumpled but completely at ease at his side. The sight is absolutely devastating.

“What’re you making?” Tessa murmurs.

Scott doesn’t respond. He only realizes he’s staring again when Tessa frowns at him questioningly.

“Do I have something on my face?” she asks, wiping nonexistent drool from her chin.

“No. Uh...no,” Scott says, voice hoarse. He averts his eyes back down to his pan. “It’s, uh, lasagna. There’ll be plenty to share. If, er. If you want some.”

“Thanks,” she responds softly. A long pause, not entirely uncomfortable, stretches between them. Tessa says, “It’s still snowing.”

Scott glances out the window above the sink. The sky is black, the winter sun having disappeared into an early night, but the white curtain of falling snow is still visible through the darkness.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

Scott is hyperaware of Tessa’s eyes on him, observing him quietly as he sprinkles the top layer of cheese across the lasagna and loads the finished product into the oven. When he turns away to wash his hands, Scott has to take a private moment to draw in a deep breath and exhale it slowly. She’s still watching him when he turns back around.

Their eyes meet. Another heavy pause. “It’s supposed to keep snowing all night,” Tessa begins carefully. “Is it going to be all right if I...stay?”

Scott thinks, helplessly, _I want you to_. Then, _fuck it_. “I want you to,” he answers honestly.

He sees Tessa take in a short, shaky breath. She nods.

Scott takes a step closer. “I can sleep on the couch?” It comes out as a question, hesitant.

Tessa doesn’t look away. Her green eyes are warm and sure under the incandescent lights of his kitchen. She shakes her head slowly.

They’re standing close, their socked feet almost touching. It seems as if they’ve come to an understanding now, but Scott wants to be certain. So he asks for what he’s been wishing for - hoping for - all day. “Can I kiss you?” he whispers.

Tessa takes the final step forward into his space, closing the distance between them. She reaches down and clasps his fingers into her hand. “I want you to,” she whispers back.

Scott smiles. Gently, he takes her cheek in his palm, leaning in to rest his forehead against hers. Their noses brush, their breaths mingling where his mouth hovers just above Tessa’s lips. In the infinitesimal space between them, the string of tension drawing them together pulls taut. Scott inches forward; their upper lips brush, just barely. His senses feel heightened in the endless fissure of longing anticipation. The feeling builds, drowning out everything else around them, until finally, Scott turns his head and slowly, sweetly, presses their mouths together.

Their lips part, eyes slipping shut simultaneously as they each breathe out a contented sigh, a quiet sound of wonder and relief. Scott opens his mouth to her, yielding to his own desire. His hands find Tessa’s waist under the blanket she wears, arms winding around her tenderly to hug her completely to his front. Tessa hums happily into their kiss, reaching up to fold her arms around his shoulders in return. Scott feels the blanket, still held in her hands, encircle him too. She lets go of one corner only to trace her fingers affectionately down the side of his face.

“I’m so happy you stayed,” Scott mumbles against her lips between kisses. “So happy.”

The connection between them, pointedly strong and growing only more obvious the more time they spend together, was there from the start. Yet Scott came unbearably close to only getting to keep it for one night. Just the thought of what might have been makes his chest ache, even now with Tessa in his arms. It would never have been enough, and Scott would have let her walk away.

Tessa seems to recognize the unspoken depth of his words, the spark of mutual feeling expanding between them. “Me too,” Tessa says breathlessly, drawing him in again. “Me too.”

Where their kisses the night before were fiery and impatient, a simple means to an end, the kiss they share now, swaying in the middle of Scott’s kitchen, is tender and lingering. Not lacking in heat, but spreading continual warmth from where their tongues meet to the tips of their toes. It’s not better or worse than what they shared the night before, it’s just...more.

Finding each other again and again as the snow buries the city around them, it feels _right_.


	4. I'm Sorry, I Didn't Mean To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pyeongchang 2018. 1.7k

In the weeks leading up to the Games, they’d reached a mutual agreement. A very business-like decision on their part, one might say. As laser-focused on their goals as they were, unblinking in the face of reclaiming gold, they’d both decided that Pyeongchang was neither the time nor the place for the undefined... _something_ occurring between them. They were attending the Olympics as Virtue and Moir, after all, not Tessa and Scott. So they’d decided to set it aside. For the Games.

For their three weeks in Pyeongchang, they would truly be just the business partners they purported themselves to be.

It was going swimmingly. It was all business between them, on and off the ice. They were Olympic athletes, partners in the original sense of what the word meant when applied to them. True professionals. Not _les amoureux_ as Marie-France had taken to cooing after them at Gadbois. Nothing more or less to each other than what they always have been, fundamentally. Because between every “more” and “less” across their twenty years, they never once stopped being united by a shared objective.

Walking down the hotel hallway, her index finger looped around Scott’s, holding hers in return, Tessa decides she likes that little turn of phrase. She smiles to herself, mentally pockets it for future use.

Scott notices. “What?” he asks, the start of his own smile curling at the corners of his lips.

Their hands sway together between them. Tessa just smiles again. “Nothing.”

Scott looks at her curiously, eyebrows turning in, but he doesn’t push.

Around them, the hotel is silent, their matching footsteps muted by the fancy carpet, dark and plush under their feet. The other guests have long since gone to sleep on the opposite sides of the doors they pass. The quiet is a welcome change from the higher intensity atmosphere of the Olympic Village they’d visited earlier that evening.

Tessa’s glad for it. When the stakes are at their highest, as they are now, she relishes in having a comfortable space to ease back into, somewhere she can put herself at a distance from the pressure of competition, the panopticon of media coverage and sports analysts discussing their chances within earshot. She’s glad for the silent, simple comfort of having Scott next to her. His steady presence, his unbending iron core and easy optimism never go unappreciated on days like today.

Tessa hasn’t let him out of her sight since they first landed. Other than their nights spent apart, of course. They’re staying in separate rooms, as brokered by their pre-Pyeongchang business arrangement, and Tessa would be lying if she said she doesn’t miss having him in her bed. That was something it took no time at all to grow accustomed to. To look forward to.

They’re good together. Great together, even, as they always have been, in every way but this one. Looking back, Tessa would be upset about all the time they apparently wasted if she hadn’t decided to be entirely _present_ in every current moment they have instead. Like the keywords they trade on the ice: _present, time, together; we’ve got time, be present, together, together, together._

It wasn’t as hard as Tessa thought it might be for them to put their relationship aside in deference of their partnership. As is their nature, they practiced it first. From the very beginning, they both made a conscious effort to separate their sport and their feelings, and to keep them that way. One was their job and one was their life, and while there was passion in both, that did not make them fundamentally equal. Skating _required_ them to be different things for each other, after all - for them to be athletes, not lovers, for their safety, and for the sake of their goals.

Even if practicing did make things easier in the long run, it doesn’t seem to have done much to prevent how much Tessa still _longs_ for them to be closer. It’s the small, private touches she misses, Scott’s hand holding hers completely, not just their two fingers linked together to get them by. It’s having his mouth on hers, hot and eager, warm and adoring, not just the glances they share, trying to convey all they can’t say or do. It’s Tessa knowing in her heart that they’re building something real, together, every time they wake up next to each other.

Their assigned rooms are directly across the hall from one another. Scott, slowing to a stop in the space between 203 and 204, twirls Tessa once under his elbow and extends her out at arm’s length to her doorstep. With their two fingers still hooked together, their outstretched arms cross the width of the hallway separating them.

Scott doesn’t let their hands drop. “Big day tomorrow,” he says, eyebrows raising.

“Yep,” Tessa grins at him. “You ready?”

Scott scoffs. “Of course. You?”

Tessa mimics his goofy bravado, “Psh, of course,” she says.

Scott tips his head back as he laughs.

They _are_ ready though, and they both know it. Tessa is giddy with it.

Scott twirls her back into his side, both of them tripping over their feet, laughing through the clumsy turn. They’re standing close now, their hands having found each other and twined together without either of them having to think on it. Habit. Where their palms are clasped together between them, Tessa squeezes Scott’s hand once, affectionately, and brings their arms back down to their sides.

She gazes up at him. “See you tomorrow then?” she asks.

“You bet,” Scott smiles down at her. A pause, then, quietly, “Have a good night, Tess.”

It feels like one of the few nights back in Montreal where they separated at the end of a long day, sharing a goodnight kiss in the hallway before opening the doors to their individual apartments and parting. Sometimes a night alone was needed, to balance themselves after so many hours spent constantly in each other’s presence, to allow themselves time to decompress in the distance they felt comfortable giving each other.

Which is maybe why now, in the quiet of their hotel hallway, Scott leans in and presses a kiss to her lips. Habit.

Tessa freezes in place as soon as their mouths meet. Her eyes go wide in surprise, the kiss going on for three seconds too long before Scott realizes his mistake.

As soon as he does he recoils, stumbling back to a much safer, more business-like distance. “Oh my god.” He slaps a hand across his mouth. “I’m sorry,” Scott says, the words muffled under his palm. “I didn’t mean to.”

His eyes are wide too, clearly worried that he’s upset her, shining with apology.

Stunned, Tessa puts her fingertips to her lips, briefly touching the place where they kissed. Kissing was definitely not part of their business agreement, she thinks. Then she bursts into laughter.

Scott can only stand there, at an utter loss as she loses it. He looks completely bewildered, blank confusion written across his face, and that just makes her laugh harder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tessa gasps, doubled over in front of him.

She holds her palm up to Scott in apology, trying to pull herself together. Instinctively, he reaches out for her wrist to steady her.

“I’m really sorry, Tess, honestly. I wasn’t thinking at all.” He bends at the knees, trying to get a look at her face. There are tears running down her cheeks. “Are you - are you laughing or crying?”

“Laughing,” Tessa coughs out. She swipes at the mascara that’s no doubt pooling under her eyelids. Straightening, she exhales slowly through her mouth, attempting to collect herself. “Oh, that was hilarious. Your _face_ ,” she cracks up again.

Scott laughs once, not sure if he’s laughing at himself, then frowns, still confused. “You’re...not upset?” he asks dubiously.

Where he’s still holding her wrist, Tessa turns her hand in his grasp, giving his forearm a reassuring squeeze. “No, of course not,” she says sincerely. “It was an accident, Scott.”

He seems to breathe out a silent sigh of relief. Tessa releases his arm so he can run his fingers through his hair, a habit as familiar to her as it is to him.

They gaze at each other for a long moment. Clearly not knowing how to recover from this particular off-ice blunder, Scott just says, “Sorry again. Just, uh, sorry. Uhh...goodnight then, T?”

She doesn’t let herself think about it for too long. They’re at their third Olympics - the ones they were never supposed to make it to - together despite it all, _together_ , and tomorrow, they’re going to win. So, before Scott has a chance to turn away, heart alive inside her chest, Tessa replies, “If we’re already breaking the rules, you might as well kiss me for real.”

Instantly, Scott is alert, his eyes flicking up to meet Tessa’s. “Really?” he says, intrigued. A coy smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. He seems more than happy to play along, playing it cool.

“At least make it worth it, you know,” Tessa shrugs, nonchalant.

Scott nods sagely. “Of course.”

Tessa takes a step closer. “Why waste the moment, right?”

“Right. We wouldn’t want to be wasteful.” Scott takes her hand in his again, but stops there. “...Are you sure though?” he says, squinting at her. He’s teasing her now.

Tessa just laughs. “Well _now_ I’m starting to rethink it,” she says. Pretending to tug her hand out of his, she tightens her grip and reels Scott the rest of the way in.

He comes easily. Reaching up and taking her cheek in his palm, Scott murmurs, “Don’t,” and closes the distance between them.

They’ve only been in Pyeongchang for a handful of days, but Tessa has already had enough time to miss the way his nose presses against hers like this, the inviting tug of his lips parting her own like this, how it feels to have her whole body unwind in his arms like this. She’ll never get tired of the fluttery warmth that expands in her belly whenever Scott gently traces his hands down the lines of her face, her neck, the length of her arms like this.

It’s always like this; so damn good, thrilling and hot and familiar and perfect. They’re so perfectly well-versed in each other, there’s no other way it could be. Bodies, thoughts, and hearts, they know each other as well as themselves.

Winding her arms around Scott’s neck, curving her body into his, Tessa thinks she has never in her life felt happier, more content. The Olympics won’t be forever, she thinks, but this very well might be.


	5. I Picked These For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flower Shop AU. 6k

Gadbois Greenery sits on the corner of Eleventh and Page Street, a tidy brick building adorned with lush arms of English ivy reaching across three of its walls. Tessa has been driving past the building, bright green and impossible to miss, for as long as she can remember. She knows the vines settled their roots into the mortar here long before their presence became ironic.

A plant shop, covered in plants.

She first got the job at the Greenery when she was in university, to keep up with her rent. She kept it after she graduated because she decided she liked the plants more than the people she was now qualified to work with. She liked the soil under her fingernails, the earthy moisture of the back greenhouse, the hook where she hung up her red striped apron every night before she went home, feeling in her tired hands that she’d done something real that day.

The owners Marie-France and Patrice felt like family, and from the beginning they treated her like one of their own. Tessa has watched their daughter, Billie Rose, with her dark curls and jean overalls, grow up over the years. Her apartment is only a fifteen minute bike ride north of the shop; in the warmer summer months, Tessa traces and retraces her journey along the riding paths through downtown every day to get to and from work.

By now, the Greenery feels just as much like home as her one bedroom. So Tessa knows when things change, and she notices when they start to become familiar.

He comes in for the first time on a warm Saturday in May and purchases one of the standard, pre-made bouquets out of the floral cooler by the front counter. There’s nothing particularly odd or memorable about his visit - a new customer, a standard transaction, a nice smile at the end of a long day. Still, Tessa remembers him when he comes in the next Saturday. And the Saturday after that.

Once is an incident and twice may be a coincidence, but three times is a habit, and he definitely seems to have made visiting Gadbois every Saturday afternoon a habit. His name is Scott according to his credit card slip, and Tessa starts to think of him as her Saturday Scott. They have a lot of regulars at Gadbois, loyal customers who’ve been coming in for every birthday and anniversary since before Tessa started. But Saturday Scott in particular, she looks forward to seeing.

This Saturday, she’s trimming stems in the back when the bells above the front door start to chime. Tessa sets her shears and the bundle of asters aside, brushing clippings off her apron as she steps through the swing doors.

“Welcome to Gadbois Greenery,” she recites the greeting automatically. “Is there anything I can help you - oh. Hello again.” A smile spreads across Tessa’s face when she looks up and sees it’s her Saturday Scott waiting on the other side of the counter.

He returns her smile. “Hi,” he says.

He’s dressed well, like every other time he’s come in to the shop. Though it’s not her place to ask, Tessa assumes the reason Scott is picking up flowers every Saturday afternoon before the Greenery closes is because he has a date that night. Tessa tries not to think of her customers in that way, but she can’t help but imagine that Scott would make a very nice date.

Whoever his partner is is certainly very lucky. In their brief interactions, Tessa has found Scott to be kind and funny and charming, and every Saturday she does her best to ignore her blatant attraction to him. Even if he wasn’t all those things, anyone would be lucky to have someone buying them flowers from Gadbois every week.

“What can I get for you today?” Tessa asks. She leans against the counter, arms folded in front of her, already knowing what his answer will be.

Scott settles against the counter on the opposite side, elbow propped up on the ledge as he surveys what’s new around him. He looks entirely comfortable in the shop, a welcome presence among the green spilling down from every shelf.

His eyes are warm and happy when he turns back to her. He says, “What’s your favorite today?”

Tessa smiles. Since the first week, this is how it has gone between them. He came in on that warm Saturday in May completely clueless, and when asked what he was looking to buy, had responded with another question: “What’s your favorite?”

“Oh, it’s different every day,” Tessa had answered honestly. When you spend all of your time around plants, you learn to appreciate different things about them, knowing you can find new small wonders wherever you look.

“Well,” Scott had replied, not missing a beat, “What’s your favorite _today_?”

It’s the end of June now, and Tessa is still excited to tell Scott about her favorites.

“Today?” she says, thoughtful. “Peonies.”

They’d just gotten a new shipment in on Wednesday; big, healthy globes of ruffled pink petals as big as Tessa’s fist. Every morning, she’s been able to watch them slowly flower open in the sunlight.

Scott smiles. “Perfect.” Tessa is fairly certain he couldn’t identify a peony if his life depended on it. “I’ll take a dozen.”

Nodding happily, Tessa returns to the back room to retrieve them. She picks out a dozen of the best, thickest peony stems and arranges them together in a sleeve of brown craft paper - at her request, Gadbois had stopped using the traditional florists’ cellophane last year, opting for a more eco-friendly alternative instead.

Finishing off the bouquet with a decorative bow of burlap ribbon tied around the middle, Tessa returns to the counter and deposits the perfect bundle into Scott’s waiting hands.

“Wow,” he says, turning the bouquet admiringly. He meets Tessa’s eyes. “I can see what you like about them.”

“Thanks,” she smiles.

Scott pays for his flowers. He takes his copy of the receipt. He thanks her and turns to leave, and Tessa can only watch him go. Not knowing what to say. Wishing, like always, that he had some reason to stay longer.

Before he reaches the front door, Tessa does manage to call out, “I’ll see you next week?”

Scott turns around, starts walking backward to hold her gaze. “Of course,” he says, and grins. “See you then, Tessa.”

The bells above the door chime again as he steps out onto the street and disappears from view. Tessa is left at the counter, steadfastly ignoring the blush rising to her cheeks, slightly taken aback by the fact that he somehow knows her name. She doesn’t recall ever introducing herself over the last several weeks.

It’s only after she’s flipped the sign in the window to ‘CLOSED’ and hung up her red striped apron on its usual hook that she remembers her nametag, the same one that’s been pinned to the corner of her apron for the last six years.

* * *

For some time, Tessa worries that any given Saturday will be the last time she sees him, but against all odds, Scott doesn’t stop his weekly visits. Tessa’s Saturdays continue in much the same way for the rest of the month, and well into July. She’s never gotten to know a Gadbois customer as well as Scott before - then again, most of their regular customers aren’t coming in every single week. Eventually, Tessa stops worrying.

Scott no longer feels like a typical customer at all, and he’s not even close to a stranger anymore. They’ve spent enough time together now that Tessa has learned about the life he leads outside of Gadbois. He’s a high school math teacher on his summer break, and has been using his free time to teach swimming lessons at the community center and work on all the odd projects he didn’t have time to finish between grading assignments and coaching the hockey team during the school year. He still teaches summer school classes every other day too, and he’s also building a deck in his backyard. Scott likes to stay busy, and he clearly has the energy to keep up with all of the balls he’s juggling. He has a dog named Smitty, who Tessa has seen more photos of than she can count at this point, and enough nieces and nephews to dote on that Tessa has lost count of them too.

Tessa tries very hard not to fall a little in love with him every time he walks through the front doors of Gadbois Greenery. He’s making it difficult for her though.

Warm and disarmingly sincere, Scott has made an equal effort to get to know her too, to the point of learning her ever-changing coffee order. Now, when he stops at the coffeehouse down the street before coming to the Greenery, he always picks up a drink for her as well. If the shop is slow, which it usually is late on a Saturday afternoon, he sometimes boosts himself on top of the counter to sit and keep Tessa company as she goes about her work. He’s attentive to her, keeping out of the way when he needs to, offering a helping hand where he can, all the while making her laugh like nobody else does.

He never stays for too long, always having some other errand to run off to. On a day when he does have a little extra time though, Tessa closes the shop early to finally give him a tour of the Gadbois she knows and loves, separate from the storefront he’s used to seeing. She shows him around the back room and they walk through the open air garden until they pass through the doors into the greenhouse, where the humid air envelops them in filtered sunshine. Tessa guides him around the winding, dirt-strewn paths inside, pointing out the different plants she tends to and sharing various facts about them. Scott peers inquisitively over her shoulder the entire time, touching flowers and smelling herbs where directed, standing close enough to make Tessa’s breath catch.

By the end of July, they’ve exchanged phone numbers. Though they talk often, their Saturday tradition never wavers. Scott never forgets to ask about her favorite of the day before making his weekly purchases. Chrysanthemums in the middle of June, red and white zinnias for Canada Day, snapdragons, waxflowers, and on one memorable occasion, a pincushion cactus in its quaint terracotta pot - he buys Tessa’s suggestion every single time. Their Saturdays together are perfect.

It’s when Tessa fools herself into thinking there might be something _more_ happening between them that things begin to deteriorate. All that time Scott spends at Gadbois, seemingly just to be around her; the tail end of a glance Tessa catches out of the corner of her eye; the embers of heat that are stoked alight every time their skin brushes. Surely it has to mean something. Despite the fact that Scott always leaves with flowers in hand for somebody else, Tessa somehow manages to forget there’s another person waiting for him outside the walls of Gadbois.

Her name is Grace. Tessa learned that about Scott too, after she calligraphed the note in one of his bouquets for him. _For Grace - Love, Scott._ Out of all the stories they share with each other, their favorite memories, their most embarrassing moments, their goals and dreams and everything in between, the one thing Tessa and Scott don’t seem to talk about is her.

It’s the last Saturday of August when any lingering, hopeful illusion of romance crumbles around Tessa - quickly, succinctly, and with finality.

She’s just finishing repotting a group of ferns when she hears the door open, right at the usual time. Covered in soil - not that Scott ever seems to mind - Tessa tries to clap as much dirt off her hands as she can before rounding the corner to greet him.

“Hey Scott!” she calls over her shoulder, reaching for the bundle of gardenias waiting on her work bench. Her fingernails are black and her hands are chapped and dirty, but the snow-white petals of the gardenias unfurl like perfectly whipped edges of a meringue. “I picked these for you today,” she continues. “Not only were they _my_ favorite, they seemed to be everyone else’s too, so I made sure to save some for you. I know that’s not how this usually works but -”

Tessa stops short when she finally turns and is met by the sight of Scott, dressed more formally than she’s ever seen him before, looking well-groomed and incredibly handsome in a crisp black suit with a necktie to match.

She doesn’t finish her sentence, not because she’s at a loss for words, but because he beats her to it.

“Those look great, Tessa, honestly,” Scott says, gesturing to the flowers, “But it’s uh, kind of a big day today, and I’m actually looking to get a dozen roses instead? Red, preferably, if you still have some? I know it’s late.”

Tessa’s first thought, jumping immediately to the forefront of her mind, is: _He’s going to propose tonight._

Not here, not to her, but to Grace. What other reason could he possibly have for putting on a suit like that and buying a dozen red roses? What other “big day” would call for such a gesture? After months and months of wooing someone with a small fortune’s worth of flowers?

In her chest, Tessa’s heart cracks wide open. She should’ve been prepared for this. She knew what kind of relationship existed between them, here in reality. And yet, she let herself believe something else entirely. Something that she wished she could have. Against her better judgment, Tessa allowed herself - and she can barely think it - to start falling in love.

Tessa swallows past the catch forming in her throat, pointed and painful, and forces on the biggest, most genuine smile she can muster. “Of course!” she replies brightly. Scott smiles too. “Be right back.”

She still has the bouquet of gardenias in her hand when she slows to a stop in the back room. Alone now, Tessa resolutely pushes away every single emotion built up from the last four months, the joy, the yearning, and now the hurt, and takes a deep, steadying breath. She ignores the burning quaver expanding into her lungs. She drops the bunch of gardenias on the nearest table, any feeling behind them rendered meaningless, and sets about the task her customer has asked of her.

* * *

The following Saturday, for the first time since they met, Scott Moir never once walks through the doors of Gadbois Greenery.

She doesn’t hear from him at all that week. It makes sense, Tessa figures. He has a lot to celebrate now, and much less reason to be coming to the shop every week. Their tentative friendship has run its course, after all, its purpose having been fulfilled.

While the loss aches in the present, Tessa knows she’ll get over it soon enough. When she lets herself think objectively about the last few months, she realizes that she and Scott only saw each other a grand total of fourteen times. Just two weeks of knowing each other, really. And in that time, they never shared anything more than good conversation, a few stray touches (which she clearly read too far into), and a single warm embrace that now, pathetically, Tessa can’t seem to forget.  

“You look like a wilted houseplant,” Marie-France announces one day.

Despite her best efforts to rationalize everything that happened between them, Tessa apparently hasn’t succeeded much, to the point that she’s now moping around the shop about it.

Marie-France narrows her eyes at her. “It is because of your loverboy, isn’t it?” she says.

Tessa can only laugh in response, a faint, humorless sound that thankfully goes unnoticed as Marie-France’s attention is drawn away by a customer across the room. Garden hose in hand, Tessa continues down the row of perennials she’s watering, happy to let that particular conversation get left behind.

Life, forgivingly, goes on.

It’s a Thursday night, and Tessa is slicing bell peppers for a new dinner recipe when her phone starts to buzz across the kitchen counter. Rinsing her hands, she reaches out and taps at the screen with wet fingers, expecting to see a message from Kaitlyn or Jordan. She’s shocked to find one, instead, from Scott.

_Hey :) do you have time to meet tonight??_

It doesn’t take more than a moment for Tessa to make a decision. She doesn’t know why she even agrees to go, after everything that’s happened. But deep down, maybe it’s for no other reason than she just...misses him.

The evening is pleasantly cool for September, so Tessa suggests they meet at the uptown sculpture garden - a good, neutral spot that’s centrally located for them both. The sun is just beginning to set when she arrives. Tessa shrugs on a jean jacket as she passes through the front gates, pausing when she spots Scott on a bench further down the path. He looks completely at ease, an ankle propped up against his knee, both arms spread across the back of the bench, gazing around the garden as he waits for her.

Tessa feels her heart wrench against her ribcage at the sight of him. It’s in that same moment that Scott turns and looks in her direction, almost as if he was able to hear her heartbeat. He promptly leaps up from his seat.

“Tessa, hey!” Scott calls out.

He bounds over to her and doesn’t hesitate to scoop her up into a tight hug, knocking the breath right out of Tessa’s lungs. Not because Scott is rough with her - his hands are so devastatingly gentle against her body - but because she wasn’t prepared for it. She wasn’t prepared for any of this.

Silently, Tessa wonders how she’ll make it out of this park with all of her still intact, and instantly, she knows she won’t. Her heart beats in time with her racing thoughts, a reminder. _Engaged, engaged, he’s engaged to someone else._

He releases her from their embrace, only to keep her close with his hands circled loosely around her forearms. “Sorry I missed Saturday,” Scott says, smiling down at her. “I missed you.”

Tessa aches. For her own sake, she takes a healthy step away from him, her wrists slipping through his fingers as she moves back. She smiles weakly and says, “No problem. What have you been up to you?”

They set down the path together as Scott launches into a discussion about his previous week of classes, a vet visit for Smitty, the intricacies of buying a new couch, and everything else that has kept him occupied since Tessa last saw him.

“Oh,” he also adds happily. “I was with Grace too, of course.”

Tessa would laugh, if she could bring herself to appreciate the irony of the situation she’s gotten herself into again. If it wasn’t making her so miserable. She just nods along as best as she can.

When there’s a lull in the conversation, she manages to find her voice again, if only to fill the silence. “So…” Tessa says. “What exactly did you want to meet for?”

“I already told you. I missed you,” Scott answers cheerfully. He wraps an arm around her shoulder, drawing them close. “Plus, I think it was about time we did something outside of your workplace, don’t you think?”

Tessa still doesn’t understand. None of this adds up. “I guess…” she replies, cautious. Why won’t he stop touching her?

“Not much of a change in scenery though,” Scott adds, eying the manicured hedges, the decorative flower beds surrounding them.

Tessa looks around too. The familiar sights make her smile softly, a feeling of momentary peace easing over her. Quietly, she says, “I like it.”

When she looks back at Scott, she finds him smiling softly too, gazing down at her. “I know you do.”

Their eyes catch, and the world seems to notice, shifting focus. The cool breeze settles into stillness around them. The sounds of crickets, the frogs chirping down by the pond, fade into the distance. For a long moment, neither one of them can look away. Tessa’s breathing quickens of its own volition, her heart beginning to beat faster. Suddenly, she doesn’t know what’s going to happen next. It feels like she and Scott are at the edge of something new; the anticipation clouds her mind like tendrils of morning fog spreading across the horizon.

They’re standing close enough that Tessa can see the spark of realization when it flashes in Scott’s eyes.

He says, “That reminds me."

Reaching behind himself, Scott carefully extricates a single white flower from the depths of his back pocket. It’s a camellia, somehow still in perfect condition despite where it just came from, petals, stem and all.

“I found this on my way in. It reminded me of your white flowers, from the other day,” Scott murmurs. “I’m sorry I missed them.”

Scott wouldn’t know the difference between a camellia and the gardenias he left behind on Saturday, but it doesn’t matter. The simple sweetness of his gesture nearly crumbles all of Tessa’s resolve completely.

Reaching forward, Scott brushes the fall of her hair to one side and tucks the camellia gently into the space above her ear. As he drops his hand, his fingertips, whether by accident or with purpose, trace down the sensitive skin of her neck, barely there. Goosebumps rise across her skin. Tessa stops breathing.

Somehow, they’re standing closer than ever before. He looks into her eyes, then down to her lips. She can feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek when he whispers, “Tessa…”

And closes the space between them.

All of the buildup, all of the tension, all of those weeks of indecision, they evaporate in a single brush of their lips. Tessa feels her body as it responds to Scott’s touch, sinking into him as his arms curve around her waist, welcoming and secure. She opens her mouth to the kiss, holding his cheek, feeling his mouth move with hers. She reaches up further to wind her hands around his neck, to bring them closer, closer, closer. She thinks: _yes_.

Then, sharply, immediately: _Grace._

It’s like being tossed unexpectedly into a pool of cold water, the icy shock of it chasing away any shred of warmth present in her body. Tessa instantly wrenches out of the kiss, mere seconds after its hopeful beginning. She shoves herself away from Scott with a gasp. He stumbles back from the force of it, eyes opening wide in surprise. In the briefest of seconds that their eyes meet, Scott looks startled, confused, but more than anything, concerned for her.

Tessa’s lips part as she chokes back a wounded sound.

She recognizes the twin feelings seeping into her veins, spreading deeper with each passing moment: Dread, and shame.

She can barely force the words out of her throat. “ _I can’t do this._ ”

Without looking back, Tessa turns and runs.

* * *

The white camellia sits on the corner of her windowsill. Despite everything, she still couldn’t bring herself throw it away.

In every way she’d played out this situation with Scott over the past weeks, no matter what the scenario, Tessa never once imagined he would be that guy. Would willfully put someone in a position like he did tonight, to her.

Then again, Scott always has been able to surprise her.

Tessa swipes away the single tear gathering at her lashes. How could she have been so stupid?  
  


* * *

By the next day, Tessa’s heartbreak has been reduced down to its most basic parts: grief, a weak pulse of self-pity beating in her chest; outrage, simmering just below the surface of her skin; and guilt, a raw weight that has come to rest at her very center. Mostly, Tessa’s angry with herself. She considers not going to work, if only to save any innocent bystanders from her toxic mood, but ultimately she decides that the Greenery is the only place in the world she would want to be today, among the plants and flowers and dirt, in all their simplicity. Their absence of intention soothes her, along with the steadiness and familiarity of working with her hands.

It’s unfortunate then, for the first time since they met, that Scott Moir walks through the doors of Gadbois Greenery on a Friday.

“Welcome to Gadbois Greenery,” Tessa recites the greeting as the bells above the door ring out. “Is there anything I can help you - oh.” The false smile she’s been wearing all day vanishes from her face as soon as she looks up and sees Scott coming toward the counter.

He looks about as bad as she feels. Though he’s certainly earned the right to feel like garbage, Tessa’s not sure he deserves the catharsis of it.

Scott approaches the counter with his hands raised at his chest, palms up apologetically, almost defensively, like he thinks she might hit him. Even as upset as she is, Tessa would never even think of it. Regardless, Scott has a lot of nerve coming in here, and no sense whatsoever.

Because there are other people milling about the shop, trying to go about their day without becoming witnesses to someone else’s interpersonal drama, she grabs Scott’s wrist, pulling him around the counter and into the back room.

She releases him as soon as they’re out of sight, and has to take a deep breath before turning to face him again. When she does, he’s just watching her, looking mournful, which only makes her angrier. “What are you doing here?” Tessa says, her words succinct.

“Look, Tessa,” Scott begins, raising his hands again. “I clearly misread some things, and I want to apologize to you for that. I wouldn’t have even come today after - after last night, but -”

Tessa stopped listening after the first sentence. “‘ _Misread some things?_ ’” she interrupts, incredulous.

Apparently she’s even more pissed at him than previously thought. Where she couldn’t laugh the night before, Tessa does laugh now, if a bit hysterically. How could he have missed the point so entirely? How dense could he be? Has he really been this cruel the whole time, and Tessa just never bothered to notice?

“You didn’t _misread_ anything. You _messed up_ , Scott,” Tessa hisses, blinking away tears as they start to pool in her eyes. “How dare you put me in the position you did last night? I should _not_ be the one who has to stop you from cheating on your own girlfriend.”

Scott’s eyes go wide. “ _Girlfriend -?_ ”

” _Fiancée_ , whatever,” Tessa continues, cutting him short. “You just don’t get it, do you? You have no idea what it feels like, being put in the middle of someone else’s relationship. _I like you_ , and you knew it. You used it against me. I like you _so much_ , and it only makes all of this worse, because now I’m just as guilty as you are.” Tessa shudders in a breath, giving herself a beat before continuing, more composed now. “I can’t even be around you. I can’t trust myself. And I especially can’t stand to be near you today. So let me ask you again, _why are you here_ , Scott?”

Scott looks stunned, the shock and awe of her anger having rendered him speechless. He shakes his head, apparently struggling to form words. “You’ve got it all wrong, Tessa -” he says.

Tessa doesn’t care. “Tell me!”

That finally seems to break what’s left of the barrier between them. Loudly, Scott blurts out, “Grace wanted to meet you!”

Now it’s Tessa who’s stunned. She can hardly believe those words came out of his mouth. Maybe she will hit him after all.

Scott goes on, “I would never have come here, not right away at least, because Gadbois is _your_ space, but I’d already promised -”

“ _Why would you bring her here?!_ ” Tessa nearly shrieks. “What the hell is the matter with you?!”

Scott throws up his hands, exasperated. He flings her words back at her, “What the hell is the matter with _you?!_ What are you even talking about?”

It’s then that the desk bell rings out on the other side of the swing doors, the single clear note of it cutting instantaneously through the middle of their argument, severing the coil of tension between them.

They’ve gotten close again. Taking a large, furious step backward, Tessa allows herself only a moment to collect herself. Lowering her head, breaking eye contact with him, she smooths her palms once over her hair as she exhales slowly. Without looking up again, she brushes past Scott, ignoring his hand reaching out to her and the quiet “Tessa” he offers. She plasters that false smile back on her face as she returns to the storefront, hoping her tears - the grief, the outrage, the guilt all threatening to spill over - aren’t too obvious.

It’s an older woman with permed white hair and a yellow jacket on the other side of the counter, hand poised above the bell to ring it a second time.

“Welcome to Gadbois Greenery,” Tessa says, drawing her attention. “Anything specific I can help you find today?”

The woman’s eyes light up when she turns and sees Tessa. Or, more accurately, when she sees the nametag fastened to her apron.

“You’re Tessa!” the woman exclaims.

Tessa can only smile haphazardly, thrown by this new and unexpected turn. “I am...” she says slowly, nodding. She definitely shouldn’t have come to work today.

A pause. Then, “She really is beautiful.”

Tessa blinks, confused about who exactly the woman is talking to, until she follows her gaze and finds that Scott has also emerged from the back room. To her left, he’s standing just far enough away so that they don’t touch.

“I told you,” he murmurs in reply.

What?

His eyes don’t stray toward Tessa even once as he says, “Tessa, this is who I wanted you to meet. My grandmother,” he gestures to the woman. “Grace.”

_What?_

“Grandma, this is Tessa.”

Reaching across the counter, Grace clasps one of Tessa’s hands, cradling it between both of her own. “You have the most beautiful flowers, dear,” she says. “Scotty brought me some every time he visited while I was in the hospital. Every week, pert’ near! I missed my garden so much while I was away, but your flowers were just what I needed. Thank you for helping him brighten up my room,” she goes on, squeezing Tessa’s hand, her watery brown eyes filled with emotion. “It was terribly ugly in there before he found your wonderful shop. You are a very talented young lady.”

Tessa is at a loss, her jaw left hanging open in utter surprise. “Thank you. That’s -” she stutters. “That’s so...lovely. I didn’t -” she glances back and forth between Grace’s beaming face and Scott, who still can’t seem to look at her. “I didn’t know.”

She didn’t _know_. The realization hits her hard and doesn’t relent.

She had it all wrong. Everything.

She needs to make it right. Now.

She needs Scott to _look_ at her.

Tessa squeezes Grace’s hand back once. “It’s so nice to meet you, Grace. I’d love to talk about your garden in just a minute, but would you mind if I stole him away for a bit first?” she says, nodding her head toward Scott.

“Of course, dear,” Grace says with a wink. “Not a problem at all. I need to browse for a little while anyway. I think I spotted some geraniums over there that I’d love to get my hands on…”

With Grace determinedly on her way over to see the annuals, Tessa grabs Scott’s wrist for the second time that day and pulls him into the back room.

As soon as the doors swing shut behind them, she turns to stare at him. “Grace is your grandmother,” is all she says.

Scott just stares back at her. “Yes…” he answers, frowning, like it’s obvious.

Not until two minutes ago, it wasn’t.

Tessa has to hide her mouth behind her hands in embarrassment as every unkind word she spat at him from this exact position replays through her mind in a chorus. She drops her palm to her heart in sincerity. “I am _so_ sorry I yelled at you,” she says, emphatic.

Scott shakes his head, mystified. “What is going on?”

“I thought you were _engaged,_ ” Tessa says. “To be _married._ ”

It seems to take a moment for that humiliating admission to register with him. “To my _grandmother?_ ” Scott says, the disbelief evident in his voice.

“I didn’t know she was your grandmother!” Tessa splutters. “You only ever called her Grace! You bought flowers for her every week! When you came in in a suit and bought a dozen red roses, I just assumed you were finally proposing!”

A single, stunned laugh escapes Scott’s lips.

“I bought roses that day because she was finally being discharged from the hospital,” he explains to her. “She’d been in there for months. I promised her we’d dress up nice and go out to a fancy dinner once she got out. She was tired of all the hospital food.”

Tessa groans, like his words are causing her physical pain. The whole time they’ve known each other...Scott wasn’t a two-timing cheat at all. He was just being a good grandson. He was being _sweet_ , and Tessa quite literally could not have made a bigger fool out of herself because of it. She buries her face in her hands, falling back against the table behind her.

“Oh my god.”

Scott is laughing again, more amused now that everything's starting to come together. “You really thought I was cheating on my soon-to-be _wife?_ So that’s why...” he trails off, no doubt remembering the sequence of events that led them here. Their kiss in the sculpture garden, Tessa shoving him away, Tessa fleeing, Tessa berating him for something he didn’t do not even twelve hours later...

Tessa’s reliving it all too. “Stop, please,” she begs. “This is so embarrassing.”

She feels Scott take a step closer to her. He gathers her wrists gently in his hands. “Tessa,” he chuckles, guiding her hands away from her face. She looks up at him, and Scott has nothing and no one but Tessa in his eyes as he says, “I haven’t even _looked_ at anyone else since the day I met you.”

At that, Tessa feels her heart begin to beat faster - with hope, with anticipation. Scott can probably feel her pulse quicken where his thumbs stroke across the delicate skin of her wrists.

“I came here every week to see _you_. I bought flowers for my grandma, yeah, but I could’ve gotten those anywhere. Picked them from her own garden, even,” Scott continues. He takes another step closer, coming to stand in the space between her feet. “And in case I haven’t made it clear by now, I don’t have a girlfriend, or a fiancée. There’s no one else, because the only person I would even want to be with is you.”

Tessa has no idea how to respond to that, to any of the declarations Scott’s just made. Everything she thought she knew has been flipped on its head. “Well that’s, um. That’s a relief?” she tries. “I like your version a lot better than mine.”

She watches Scott’s face scrunch in delight as he begins to laugh, his happiness outshining any lingering darkness left from the misunderstandings between them. Tessa can feel the tension, the weight of her guilt falling from her shoulders as a slow grin spreads across her face. This is how it should’ve been from the start.

“Come here,” Scott laughs, drawing her forward. He kisses her cheek once before wrapping her up firmly in his arms. Relaxing into their hug, Tessa lets her eyes slip shut, folding her arms under Scott’s to hold him tightly in return.

They stay like that for a long minute, swaying gently, taking time to cherish being close. The ambient noise of the Greenery filters in through the swing doors and surrounds them; the hushed sound of leaves rustling in the back garden, the misting sprinklers clicking on in the front display, the floorboards creaking distantly under customers’ feet as they roam through the shop. The sounds remind Tessa of the work she needs to return to, but for now, she lets herself have this.

Then she realizes.

She doesn’t move away. Instead, she says into his shoulder, “It’s Saturday tomorrow.”

Scott hums in reply. “It is,” he murmurs. Tessa can feel the rumble of his words where her hands are pressed to his back.

Finally giving in and stepping away, Tessa looks up to find Scott smiling softly down at her, the meaning shared between them without a word being spoken. His hands are still holding her waist as he leans in and presses a simple, close-mouthed kiss to her lips. A hopeful new beginning, here in the place where it all began.


	6. I'll Still Be Here When You're Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends with Benefits. 1.7k
> 
>  _Note:_ Rating upgraded to Mature for this chapter. Do with that what you will.

They wake up before the sun. Outside the bedroom window, the rest of the world is silent and still in sleep. If they pulled back the curtains, they would find the first brush of pale yellow sunlight visible only in the bare wisps of clouds, high in the sky, everything else all but washed away in the gray dimness of night.

Their bodies find each other instead.

In the morning, it’s simple between them. In the morning, there’s nothing more than an honest longing to be together, to feel and to _be_ connected. Warm desire thrumming in the space between them until there’s nothing separating them at all.

Things are slow in the morning. Languid kisses as their bodies melt into one, skin to skin, curving and coming together. Measured, exploring hands, stopping breaths as they take their time. Slow, rising heat until the first, welcomed push inside.

There’s no rush or urgency. Sex like a sigh, a drawn out surrender to the undefinable emotion between them, one that can’t be denied here in the first light before dawn. There are no words, just movement, hot and close; shared breaths and locked eyes until it feels too good to keep them open. Hands that are gentle and knowing and unyielding.

Tessa’s fingers wind through his hair and hold tight, keeping him close, as close as they can be. His mouth explores each of the familiar, tender places of her throat that make her shudder and arch into him. Her skin is slick with sweat where he holds her, guides her, moves with her, slowly in and out. She climbs closer and closer to the edge and he doesn’t let go - couldn’t even bear to do so.

Her body begins to clench around him, and she’s lost to herself as she gasps out his name.

Then, breathlessly, “ _I love you._ ”

All of the air punches out of Scott’s lungs at her words, the first either of them have said to each other since waking. He crumbles in her arms, wound around his body, holding him fully and without hesitancy. Burying his face in the curve of her shoulder, warm and known, buried inside her, he follows her to their highest point, over, and beyond.

* * *

They’re side by side as the sun crests above the horizon.

On her stomach, one arm splayed under her pillow and her flushed cheek pressed into it, Scott watches as Tessa’s breathing gradually begins to even out. Relaxed among the sheets, her eyes stay closed as she inhales, exhales. Inhales, exhales.

His hand rests at her lower back, a gentle weight as he revels in the feeling of having her within arm’s reach. It’s a feeling he’s had his entire life, one that he’s never gotten tired of and one he never will. The tips of his fingers find the dip of her spine and trace up its length, his palm moving soothingly across her bare back, where her skin gives off a sated heat beneath his hand.

He feels her sigh under his touch.

Scott is certain he’s touched her in every way a person can be touched, after two decades of skating and friendship and now, having found their way into each other’s beds. Despite what one may think, however, Tessa’s body has never once stopped being a marvel to him.

Tessa is an artist, and the length of her arms, the bend of her knees, the grace in her every movement is her medium. Her skin, velvet-soft, plays counterpoint to the lean, uncompromising strength evident just below the surface. Scott knows better than anyone the dedication, the passion, the untarnished _resolve_ carved into every hard line he’s lucky enough to touch. Her body doesn’t give way under his hands, firm and incontrovertible and like no one else’s. Without a doubt, Tessa is a lifetime study in contrasts; both hard and pliable at the same time, soft and delicate and strong.

Scott could spend every moment at her side and never get enough of it. He meant it more than he could properly say when he told the world he wanted to come back to skating to be close to Tessa again. He didn’t mean it in this way either - physically close, yes. In proximity. But more than anything, close enough to share their emotions, their energy, the highs and lows of being together, in whatever form that ended up taking. The unadorned intimacy of sharing their lives again.

Scott never could have known that ‘close’ would mean their bare bodies twined together like this, hours before they even need to wake up. Sex so good that Scott would call it “making love” if he didn’t think Tessa would fix him with that certain look and then make fun of him for it.

After all, that’s really not what they are to each other, is it?

Friends with benefits. That’s what they’re supposed to be, not that Scott could ever bring himself to call them that. Last time he checked, the benefits do not usually include gasping out _I love you_ ’s as you come with your best friend inside you.

They’ve said it to each other hundreds of times before now, of course. They’re words of encouragement at the rink, words of comfort after a bad skate, words of devotion and respect that they’ve never hesitated to say before, because no matter what happens, they both know they’ll always have each other in the end.

Never once have they said it like this though, when the meaning behind those three worn words is all but unequivocal.

They haven’t spoken another word to each other since. The silence between them isn’t uncomfortable, but it is significant. Watchful and knowing.

Scott isn’t sure what to say. After decades of training sessions and team meetings and joint therapy, they should be the nation’s leading experts in conflict resolution. They’ve practically been conditioned to deal with saying the wrong thing to each other. But that’s the problem - Scott doesn’t want it to have been a mistake.

He wants the _I love you_ ’s that mean more - mean everything. He wants the morning sex and the legs crowding onto his side of the bed as they fall asleep at night and every other boring moment that happens in between, all adding up to a life lived together. They even already have twenty years of practice.

No matter what it is he longs for, however, it’s Tessa's happiness that Scott finds himself hopelessly devoted to. It’s been that way for as long as he’s known what exactly their bond means to him, how special it is. How special _Tessa_ is. And wherever it may lead him, wherever _Tessa_ leads him, Scott will follow. No matter how long it takes to get there. The only thing he’s not willing to do is push her away, and if that means withholding his feelings, not reciprocating those words just yet, then so be it. Scott isn’t going anywhere - his place is at her side.

Lost in the hedge maze of his thoughts, Scott realizes his hand has paused in its journey across Tessa’s back as he blinks himself back to reality. Focusing on Tessa’s face once more, he finds her green eyes watching him in return, guarded but lingering.

Scott smooths his hand up her shoulder one last time before reaching out to brush the loose hair away from her face. He nestles closer, giving the back of her neck a tender, reassuring squeeze before draping his arm across her. He doesn’t let go, doesn’t want her to believe for a moment that she’s given too much away.

Scott clears his throat. Quietly, he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Tessa shifts in place, moving closer to him, making herself comfortable in his grasp. She sighs, a long and heavy sound. “Not really,” Tessa murmurs. Her fingers toy with the seam of her pillowcase.

The answer doesn’t really surprise Scott. He understands, though. He understands everything about Tessa, better than he understands himself sometimes. Scott nods amicably. “Okay,” is all he says.

Outside, the morning is brightening, a gilded pink glow beginning to filter in through the curtains. Birds chirp and sing on the other side of the window, greeting the day. It’s quiet between the two of them, however. And as the silence continues to hold, Scott accepts that the moment, the opportunity in all its possibility, has passed them by.

He’s just calculating whether or not they have enough time before practice to catch another hour of sleep when Tessa speaks up again.

“I didn’t mean -” she starts, then pauses. Scott’s gaze finds hers. Tessa seems to weigh her words carefully, choosing them deliberately before continuing. “I wasn’t - I wasn’t...ready to say that,” she says, “yet.”

Yet. From three important words to one, and somehow this is the one that speaks louder than any of the others. Scott feels the jolt of surprise and awe and _hope_ as it courses through his whole body. He _knows_ Tessa. Every single day they speak to each other in keywords and glances and the unspoken understanding of each other that comes from another person becoming a part of yourself. A slow smile begins to tug at the corners of Scott’s mouth. He knows what yet means.

Yet is an acknowledgement. Yet is an admission, just felt at the wrong moment. Yet is ‘’I need time.’’ Yet is a promise.

Tessa’s eyes are steady and sure on Scott’s face, watching, waiting as he interprets all that she didn’t say. She looks hesitant, as if she doesn’t know that Scott is already a sure thing.

So, Scott responds in kind: without words. From him, it’s a language Tessa knows well - after all, his actions have always expressed exactly what needed to be said, what can be found inside his heart.

Gathering her up completely in his arms, Scott pulls Tessa close until they’re pressed chest to chest. Tessa comes easily, tucking her head into that perfect space under his chin as she wraps her arms around him in return. Her palms stroke slowly across his bare back, a comforting touch as she holds him close.

Scott presses a lingering kiss to the top her head and doesn’t move away, hugging her tight. With his lips against her hair, he whispers, quiet, only for each other, “I’ll still be here when you’re ready.”

Scott feels her smile begin to curve against his skin. Tessa knows too.

He’s not going anywhere.


	7. It's Okay, I Couldn't Sleep Anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insomnia fic. 5.4k
> 
> Surprise! I'm back during these trying times to say: don't be sad my lovelies, just read AU fanfiction. We're all dumb bitches in this house, and I'm here for you if you ever need me <3
> 
> It's been a while, and this...got away from me, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! And thank you for joining me here again. I love you all very much.

By 2:15 am, the world is silent. In the beginning, that used to be something Tessa could appreciate about her...affliction. There was something almost romantic about wandering the empty streets at night, the silence and the emptiness taking on a dreamy sort of unreality, where the world felt unguarded and open to any possibility. The cool night air kissing her hello as she stepped outside her front door; glowing fireflies and crickets chirping in the distance; the golden haze of streetlamps pouring down onto the dew-damp pavement as she roamed through the winding streets. Those kinds of things were easy for Tessa to romanticize, in the beginning.

Her bed used to be comfortable then too. In the beginning. Now, wide-awake once again to see her alarm clock tick forward to 2:16, there’s not a single comfort that Tessa can find in her bed. Her nighttime routine - changing into her most well-worn sleep clothes, doing her skincare and brushing her teeth, adjusting her multitude of pillows, and ultimately sinking down into her mattress - all of it is only an exercise in disappointment now, in putting off the inevitable. She should feel welcome in her bed, but every night, Tessa just feels trapped. Dread curdles in her stomach as soon as she lies down, trying to relax but knowing she has nothing but another sleepless night to get through.

No matter how exhausted her body is, no matter how many miles she runs or Pilates classes she subjects herself to in a day, it’s Tessa’s mind that will always be louder than the world around her.

So she doesn’t sleep much anymore. That’s something Tessa is beginning to come to terms with.

Staring up at her ceiling, Tessa can feel the same frustration she battles every night beginning to rise toward the surface, pricking tears in her eyes, but she resolutely ignores the feeling. With a deep sigh, Tessa surrenders any hope of catching a few hours of rest tonight and climbs out from her tangle of sheets. If she can’t sleep, she might as well get something else done.

* * *

The fluorescent lights are blinding as always when she finally arrives at the laundromat. Normally their obtrusive brightness would be headache inducing, but Tessa has gotten rather used to them now. It’s certainly not her first trip to this particular laundromat after three in the morning. The simple corner store was one of the first silent, empty places she found during her late night wanderings; a 24-hour refuge where she could wait out the long hours until morning.

Well, the laundromat is _usually_ silent and empty. Pausing inside the front door, the weight of her laundry basket heavy on her hip, Tessa frowns as she’s greeted by the mechanical whir of several washing machines, clearly in use. By the pitch, she can tell they’re just starting the wash cycle. Tessa peers warily around the laundromat, but doesn’t see anyone else present at the moment. Whoever it is will probably be back later once their stuff is done. At least she won’t have to make any small talk in the meantime, she thinks. Turning down the far left aisle, Tessa just hopes that the person didn’t take...

Her favorite machine. Of course it’s already running. Stopping short in front of number seventeen, with its seven sticker halfway peeling off the white metal, Tessa glares at the mesmerizing whirl of someone else’s coloreds as if the clothes have personally wronged her. Seventeen is the only machine that operates with one quarter less than the others, it’s her lucky machine, she’s awake well on the ugly side of midnight, and someone has taken her favorite machine.

Tessa sighs, irritated, and stomps further down the row, putting some distance between her and whoever has encroached on _her_ late night laundry routine. She loads her soap and softener, jams all the stupid quarters into the machine - including the extra one - and watches the barrel start to fill with water, arms crossed over her chest. It’s not until she’s loading her darks into the washer - perhaps a little more aggressively than is strictly necessary - that Tessa finally spots him out of the corner of her eye. Turns out she’s not the only person in the building after all. Down the row, parked in the far corner, a man is slumped down into one of the rolling baskets provided by the laundromat, his legs dangling over the side, neck bent at a distinctly uncomfortable-looking angle, apparently fast asleep.

So this is the culprit.

Tossing in her last pair of underwear and a lone blue sock, Tessa closes the lid of the machine and marches over to the guy. Usually she’s not one to socialize with any other late night vagrants unless she has to, but Tessa’s now one quarter short of being able to finish both loads of her laundry, and she’s got a bone to pick.

She stops in front of him and drops her empty basket onto the floor with a loud clatter. He starts awake in a comically abrupt fashion, limbs jerking in the air as he lurches up, almost upsetting his rolling bed in the process. Tessa can’t discern much about him given how he’s folded himself into the cart, but he seems to be about her age, with brown hair sticking up in every direction and dark circles under his eyes that could probably rival her own.

“What the -” the man exclaims.

“You owe me a quarter,” Tessa interrupts coolly.

The man glances nervously around the entire laundromat, eyes wide with momentary panic and confusion, before his gaze finally lands on Tessa. He blinks up at her for a long moment, then his face settles into a deep scowl.

“Excuse me?” he scoffs at her.

Tessa points down the length of the row behind them. “Seventeen is _my_ machine,” she says. “It runs even if you only put five quarters in instead of six like the others, and _you_ took it, so now I don’t have enough change to do my second load.”

The guy gapes at her. Still seated in the basket, he raises his hands, palms up like he’s trying to defend himself. “Hey, lady, I just took a random machine. No one else was here, and I didn’t see any names on these things,” he says. “And I put six quarters in just like the sticker said.”

“Well,” Tessa laughs at him. “That’s your own mistake. You wasted a quarter.”

He’s staring at her again, like he honestly can’t believe that he’s being confronted over a quarter at a laundromat at 3:30 in the morning. “Well,” he parrots back. “I’ll remember that in the future. Thanks for the tip.”

With a note of haughty finality, he settles back into the rolling basket, making himself comfortable again. He tilts his head back against the edge and shuts his eyes, apparently content to go on ignoring Tessa’s presence entirely.

Turning on her heel, Tessa returns to her own laundry, intent on doing the same.

By the time she’s seated herself on top of a dryer next to her pile of whites and pulled out her book, however, all the fight has drained out of Tessa. Prickly embarrassment sets in almost immediately after, as she thinks about the production she just made. She was so quick to go after the poor guy, and definitely too sharp with him. She’s just so _tired_. She would never treat a stranger like that in the light of day, but Tessa hasn’t slept for longer than three hours in the last week, and it’s clearly starting to show.

She sets the book aside to rest her elbows on her knees for a long minute, pressing her palms against her eyelids until she sees fireworks. The feeling of defeat is heavy on her shoulders, and suddenly Tessa’s fighting back tears once again. Why can’t she just _sleep_?

She doesn’t know how much time passes, but she eventually pulls herself together and forces her aching eyes to focus on the words on the page. The monotonous white noise of the washing machines should be enough to relax her, but instead Tessa just feels tense and vaguely unstable, like her body is oversensitive to every stimulus coming at her. She tries desperately to tune in to the book and mostly fails. She can’t stop thinking that she should go apologize.

The squeak of rusty wheels slowly approaching her is what finally draws Tessa’s attention again. Looking up, she sees the guy, still seated in the basket, his legs stretched down to the floor as he attempts to push the cart down the row with his tiptoes. Instead of staring vacantly at the pages of the book in her lap, she watches him struggle to steer the cart in her direction for a seemingly infinite stretch of time. When he finally reaches where Tessa is sitting, he brings the cart to a stop and settles in again, faux-casual, like she didn’t just bear witness to his entire squeaky journey to her end of the laundromat. He folds his hands across his stomach, elbows resting on opposite edges of the basket.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat. “Do you come here often, or do you just have a psychic affinity for cost-effective wash machines?”

Tessa almost laughs. She rolls her eyes and looks back down at her book. “It’s my superpower,” she replies dryly.

He nods, fully accepting of her answer. There’s another long pause before he says, “You receiving any messages from the dryers by any chance?”

A slow smile begins to turn up at the corner of her mouth.

That’s how Tessa meets Scott Moir. In the middle of a sleepless night, on a Wednesday, at a laundromat.

* * *

“I don’t sleep,” Tessa confesses to him, later.

Scott doesn’t sleep much either.

It takes a while for her to trust him. Not because she doesn’t believe him, it’s just that Tessa has never forgotten the speech her mother gave her after she accidentally let it it slip she goes out onto the streets at night when she can’t sleep. Tessa’s not a naturally suspicious person, but she knows how to keep herself safe, and she also knows better than to let her guard down around a man she doesn’t know well, especially when she’s alone after dark. That’s just the way the world is. Scott seems to understand this. He doesn’t take it personally.

Tessa can imagine the words her mother would have for her now, if Kate knew she was purposefully going out at all hours of the night with some strange man from the laundromat.

“It’s not _safe_.” Tessa can hear her mother’s words in her mind without even having to hear them in person. “You’re putting yourself in a vulnerable position, Tessa. He could do anything to you, when no one’s around to intervene.”

But it’s not like that.

When she can’t sleep and she wants to escape the four walls of her bedroom, Tessa texts him, if he hasn’t already texted her first. More often than not, by the time she gives up on sleep and gives in to checking her phone, there’s already a message waiting for her.

Saturday, June 9, 1:52 am: _i hope you’re sleeping. if not, i’m heading to lava java_

Tuesday, June 26, 3:06 am: _i’m at prentiss park if you’re awake. but i hope you’re not_

Monday, July 18, 12:48 am: _sweet dreams, tess. meet me at the usual spot if you want_

In the beginning, Tessa sticks to the public places where there’s likely to other people around. They take walks around the well-lit parts of town, nodding in greeting at the odd night jogger and the late shift workers passing by on their way home. They meet up at the 24-hour coffeeshop and always share the same booth, legs propped up on the other’s bench, a cup of decaf sludge for Scott and a cinnamon tea with soymilk for Tessa. The silence they share is companionable.

Before, Tessa never felt particularly lonely when she laid awake at night by herself, staring up at her ceiling, praying that she’d fall asleep. She never once wished someone else was there with her, because they’d just grow tired of her tossing and turning anyway. Tessa knows that insomnia is not an experience that’s meant to be shared. It’s isolating in its torment, preying on you when the rest of the world is blissfully unable to care, deep in the depths of sleep.

Insomnia is an inherently lonely experience, so Tessa never bothered to consider that her battle with it could be anything else. She’s learning to live with it differently now, however. Some nights, she ignores Scott’s texts, rolling away from the bright notification and just hoping for the best on her own. Some nights, her body is so debilitatingly exhausted that she couldn’t imagine getting up and moving, no matter how much she would like to not be lying there alone. Other nights though, they do meet up, and they talk, or they walk in silence, or do their laundry together like that very first time. And when Tessa is with Scott, the world doesn’t seem so silent and empty anymore. Because even if she’s stuck awake, she’s not alone, and that makes everything feel smaller, shrunk down to a more manageable size.

Tessa would never wish the experience they share on anyone, especially not someone like Scott, but selfishly, Tessa is glad she has him to be awake with.

Tonight, Tessa is trying to focus on anything other than the hours of sleep she’s losing to the backs of her eyelids when her chirpy ringtone breaks open the silence of her bedroom. Her reflexes are so dulled by exhaustion that Tessa doesn’t even flinch, just reaches blindly for her phone on the bedside table. She squints at the screen. It’s Scott, of course, his contact picture - a goofy shot of him doing the tree pose next to a maple tree - greeting her in the darkness.

A phone call from Scott is new. Not necessarily a bad thing, Tessa decides, she just hopes nothing is wrong. She swipes at the screen to answer.

“Hello?” Tessa can hear the hoarseness of her own voice through the speaker, having gone unused since she crawled into bed five hours ago.

“Hey Tess, sorry,” Scott begins, rushed, sounding immediately regretful. “I shouldn’t have even called, god. I’m sorry if -”

“It’s okay,” Tess tells him. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

A beat of silence, and on the other end of the line, she can hear Scott let out a long breath full of...something. Tessa tucks the phone more comfortably between her pillow and her cheek, closer.

“Yeah,” he responds quietly. “Me neither.”

Quite often, the comfort is as simple as that.

* * *

Tessa acknowledges she finds Scott attractive around the same time the weather starts to change, bringing nights that are too cold to spend outside. Their nightly exchanges quickly turn into a series of _come over_ ’s and _no it’s too cold, i don’t want to leave. you come over_ ’s. By October, Tessa realizes Scott is spending half the nights of the week at her place. She doesn’t really know what to think about that. Mostly she’s just grateful he’s not there long often enough for her neighbors to start asking questions. Tessa is acutely aware that if Ms. Carmichael were actually awake to peer out her window and see Scott arriving in the early hours of the morning, Tessa would have a very different reputation in her neighborhood.

It’s not like that between them though. Scott never stays the night; usually he’s gone before the sun has even started to rise. Tessa is fairly certain he’s never so much as touched her bed. He’s not there to sleep, after all - that’s the whole point of their weird, symbiotic relationship. While Tessa is well acquainted with the other activities that could involve her bed, she does her best not think about those things in relation to Scott. It’s not like that.

Tessa has a nice kitchen, so they spend a lot of their time there. When the late night hunger pangs set in, they make toast and eggs and argue about the best hot sauce accompaniment. They frost pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies for Halloween and stain their fingertips orange with food coloring that doesn’t wash out for days. After the law changes, just once, they make brownies together and get stoned on her living room floor. That’s maybe the one and only time they ever actually sleep in each other’s presence.

They don’t drink when they can’t sleep, for the same reason neither one of them uses medication to help with insomnia. It’s not a solution - just a bad path to start down, and one that is especially difficult to leave. It’s something they’ve discussed at length before. Conversations like that are what makes Tessa pause and simply savor how _good_ it feels to have someone who can truly empathize with her struggles, who fundamentally understands all that she has to cope with. The realization, when it comes, should not feel as profound as it does.

She likes Scott, more than she probably should, in the same true and fundamental way they’ve understood each other from the very beginning, before they really knew each other at all. It’s an expansive feeling, one she has yet to find the bounds of, and one that Tessa refuses to put a label on. All she really wants is to keep Scott at her side, and that seems to be a place he’s more than willing to stay.

It’s Saturday morning, well after four am, and they’re sitting out on her back patio, wrapped up in blankets on the old outdoor furniture Tessa got secondhand from Jordan. The weather took a happy turn back toward mild for the weekend, and they mutually decided to take advantage of what will likely be the last pleasant night of the year. It’s still a little too cold for just socks, however, an amateur mistake on Tessa’s part. She works on nestling her icy toes under Scott’s calves on the footrest they’re sharing.

Scott doesn’t protest. He’s been quiet all night, which is normally not one of Scott’s dominant traits. It’s not uncommon for them to just sit together in silence - sometimes the energy just isn’t there - but tonight doesn’t feel like one of those nights. Tessa’s uncertain about whether she should push him on whatever seems to be troubling him. Usually he’ll come to her on his own, whenever he’s ready.

While she waits for that time to arrive, however, Tessa decides to start with something easier, a question they often find themselves asking each other. A sort of check-in they’ve gotten into the habit of using, equivalent to dipping your toes into water, to test the temperature of the conversation. Glancing in his direction, Tessa asks quietly, “What are you thinking about right now?”

The wicker furniture creaks as Scott shifts in position, wrapping the checkered throw more carefully around his shoulders. He tucks his nose into the folds of the blanket. He doesn’t answer the question right away, and the silence stretches on so long that Tessa isn’t sure he actually heard her.

Then his gaze finds hers in the darkness. “Do you want the honest answer?” Scott says.

Tessa nods, wide eyes not leaving his. “Of course,” she answers, her conviction genuine. She will always want to hear what Scott has to say.

Scott chuckles, a small sound. He replies, “I’ve been wondering what you look like in the daylight.”

Tessa is taken aback by his answer, though it shouldn’t throw her as much as it does. Tessa’s never really considered the fact that they only see each other at night. Objectively she knows their relationship is strange, but the way they are just feels normal to her now; it’s how they’ve always been. And honestly, Tessa wasn’t sure that anything outside the early morning hours was even an option. Maybe she should’ve asked him.

Something shifts then, and that’s when Tessa makes up her mind. “We should fix that,” she tells him.

Scott lets his head fall against the back of the loveseat, turning to look in her direction. “You think so?” he says. It’s hard to see in the dark, but Tessa knows there’s a small smile toying at his iips, just by the sound of his voice.

“Yeah,” Tessa says, more definitively. “Yeah, for sure.”

Scott nods once. “Okay.”

They don’t talk about it again for the rest of the night. It’s only hours later, when the bottom of the sky is beginning to lighten, dawn approaching slowly then all at once, that Scott speaks up again.

“I should go,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t make any effort to get up.

Tessa, who had been drifting in and out of a barely-there sleep against the armrest of her chair, blinks back into awareness. As she dozed, she’d been thinking about what Scott will look like in the light of day, how bright he’ll seem to her, when he already shines even in the dark. In the end, she doesn’t know why she says it. Then again, maybe she does.

“You don’t have to.”

When he looks over at her, she watches him back, and Tessa can see the moment he decides to stay.

She takes his hand after they’ve gathered the blankets up from the furniture. She doesn’t let it go. Together, they turn off the lights in the kitchen. They don’t change out of the clothes they’re wearing, just push back the covers on each side of her bed and carefully climb in. They move in close together. When Scott hesitates, Tessa reaches behind herself to take his hand, guiding it gently across her waist, as if it to say _I’m here, this is okay_. She holds his hand near her collarbone, their fingers intertwined.

Tessa can feel it when Scott finally allows himself to have this. Slowly, the tension in his body that’s kept him distant all night begins to unwind, every part of him relaxing against her. His arm folds her in even closer to his chest, holding her in return with a firm tenderness that makes Tessa’s heart beat harder against her ribcage. She knows he can feel it too, where their hands are joined under her chin. Scott tucks his cheek against the back of her neck, next to the fall of her ponytail. He breathes in deeply, and Tessa feels his eyelashes flutter closed against her bare skin.

Turning her head, Tessa presses a single kiss to the soft part of his hand, where his thumb and forefinger join together.

Tessa and Scott don’t sleep. But for once, that seems okay.

* * *

They decide to meet again for the first time at the golden hour, because it seems fittingly overdramatic for such a ridiculous occasion. They also agree to go to dinner dressed up in the very best outfits they own, because a conversation about them both in uppity formal wear almost had them sick with laughter one night, months ago. Neither one of them says that it’s a date, but that seems like an agreed upon fact without either of them having to mention it out loud.

From the very back of her closet, Tessa produces the glitziest floor length dress she has, something she wore once for a work event. She can admit that the pattern of gold embellishments is very flattering, even if the dress is entirely too over the top for what the situation calls for. Tessa wonders if Scott will like it - she hopes he will. She wonders what he’ll be wearing.

Over her dress, Tessa puts on an oversized black faux-fur jacket that carefully toes the line between ugly and elegant, deciding it’ll be just enough to protect her from the cold on the walk between her car and the restaurant. Gathering up her things, trying to breathe her racing heart back into a normal rhythm, Tessa heads out her front door.

The restaurant was one of Scott’s suggestions, somewhere she’d never been before, so Tessa feels like she should’ve guessed beforehand that it would have something like a grandiose set of marble stairs leading up to the front entrance. That’s probably the exact reason Scott picked it, just so they’d look even more ridiculous. People do seem to be giving Tessa the side-eye as she waits at the base of the steps, decked out in a glorified prom dress. She tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear shyly, but smiles to herself.

Around her, the windows of the buildings are reflecting the rose gold brilliance of the sky, amplifying the soft warmth of the golden light, and that’s when Tessa finally spots Scott, hurrying in her direction from further down the street. He waves at her excitedly. Tessa grins.

They’ve only ever seen each other in the kind of mismatched comfy clothes one reserves for wasting the night away, so seeing Scott now is a 180-degree turn. He looks handsome in his tux - complete with a bow tie and pocket square - and his getup makes Tessa feel like she maybe isn’t so overdressed after all. They’re a matched set.

Scott’s out of breath when he finally reaches her, dashing up the first five stairs to where she’s waiting in two long strides. He slows down as he approaches her though, taking all of her in from top to bottom, her dress and her earrings and her eyes all twinkling in the light of the golden hour. Tessa can’t seem to hold back her laughter as she folds out her arms, making a little _ta-da_ motion.

“Wow,” Scott breathes. He steps in closer than ever and takes her hand.

His eyes roam across her face, as if memorizing every new detail he can see. Tessa’s eyes sweep across every part of his face in return, appreciating how the sun highlights the color of his eyes, the lines of his jaw, the texture of his hair as it falls in messy waves. Then, after a long moment of just _seeing_ , Tessa carefully reaches up and presses her palm to his cheek. She lightly traces the dark circle under his left eye with her thumb. Still the same Scott.

“Hi,” Tessa whispers back, then lets her hand fall back to her side.

Scott reaches for it right away, clasping their palms together. He grins. “It’s nice to see you,” he says, and gestures vaguely around them. “Here in all this light.”

Tessa laughs, loud and unabashed. “Yeah, you too.”

They just stare at each other dopily for another minute before Tessa comes to her senses. “Should we head inside?” she asks gently.

That seems to jumpstart Scott back into motion. “Oh!” he says. “You’ve got to open this first.”

Unbuttoning his jacket and reaching inside the inner pocket, he produces a small box with a white ribbon tied around it. He holds it out to her on an open palm.

“Are we getting engaged?” Tessa quips, eyebrows raising. She feels safe in the joke, because it’s clearly not a ring box, and also because she knows Scott better than that.

Not that Tessa would necessarily say no if he asked. Just...she’d like to kiss him first.

“Not yet,” Scott laughs off the remark. Tessa doesn’t miss the inherent assumption in his answer though, and her heart starts to beat a little faster. “But I did get a gift for you.”

Tessa groans. “Scott,” she scolds, “You should’ve said so! I would’ve gotten you something -”

Scott laughs again, waving away her commentary. “Trust me, it didn’t cost much.”

Tessa eyes both him and the box warily.

“Just open it!” he insists, shaking it a little. It rattles in his hand.

Gingerly, Tessa picks up the box and unties the delicate ribbon, feeling Scott’s eyes on her the whole time. She tucks the lid against the bottom of the box. Inside, there are two layers of gauzy material, and between the decorative padding, Tessa finds a single, shiny quarter.

A long-forgotten debt finally repaid; one that had already been repaid in so many more important ways.

Tessa feels her lips part in surprise at the sight of it, the memory rushing back to her all at once. She jerks her head up to look at Scott. It’s as ridiculous as her in a ball gown and Scott with a pocket square, but she actually feels tears spring to her eyes. The difference between how she felt that night and how she feels now is suddenly so evident it almost aches: how alone Tessa was all those months ago, exhausted, just trying to fill up the emptiness of a sleepless night, and now, as she stands in front of Scott, tired, but feeling more whole in the light of the setting sun than she has in a long time.

Scott doesn’t see the emotion welling up in her eyes, just the shock written across Tessa’s face at the sight of a long-lost quarter. He’s near laughter, delighted in having gifted her with all of twenty-five cents, unaware of the meaning Tessa now understands, hidden within a single coin that somehow brought them together. So Tessa shuts him up with a kiss.

Golden sunlight shines all around them, and Scott kisses Tessa back.

* * *

He doesn’t text her as often anymore, but that’s to be expected now that he’s all but moved into her place.

When Tessa blinks awake, she looks to her alarm clock. She’d slept for over two and a half hours. Even after all this time, a few hours still feels like a victory. Every little bit helps.

Rolling over, Tessa shifts closer to the middle of the bed, hoping she can cash in another hour at least. Reaching toward the opposite side, seeking out the warmth of his arms, Tessa’s hand finds only cool bedsheets. Tessa opens her eyes again.

They know better than to encroach on any brief snatches of rest the other can find, but some part of Tessa will always be a little sad when he doesn’t wake her up when he needs her. She knows Scott feels the same, always coming to find her if she slips out of their bed on a bad night, even though she just wants to let him sleep peacefully. It’s something they’re working on.

Today though, it’s 5:57 on a Saturday morning according to the glow of Tessa’s alarm clock, and without a full day of work ahead to consider, Tessa lets herself have the morning.

She finds him out on the patio, a mug of fresh coffee in his hand, watching the swirling patterns of steam rise and evaporate into the air. The world is warming up again, shaking off the grip of a cold spring. The morning is comfortable and calm, without the stagnant humidity that will set in by the afternoon.

Scott is already aware of her presence, having heard the sliding door open and close as she stepped outside, but Tessa still traces her palm across his shoulders as she rounds the wicker loveseat. Just to feel the steadiness of him, to let him know she’s there.

She sits down next to him, tucking her feet up under her and settling in close. She presses a kiss to the side of his neck, just checking in, before resting her head against his shoulder. Scott wraps his arm around her shoulders, hugging her to him.

The world around them is waking up, birds singing in the distance, pale light beginning to pinken the night sky to the east as they simply hold each other, easing into the comfortable silence they’ve always shared.

Scott is the first to speak. “What are you thinking about right now?” he asks quietly, voice rough and sleepy but warm. Always warm.

Tessa hums. In reality, she’d been thinking about telling Scott she loves him. But Tessa decides those words are for another night. “I’m thinking I’d like to watch the sunrise with you,” she says instead.

Scott smiles down at her, like he knows what she wanted to say anyway. He presses a kiss to her temple. “Okay.”

And that feels a lot like an answer.

Together, they watch the sun rise.

**Author's Note:**

>  _[As of August 3, 2018]_  
>  I'm going to go ahead and mark this work as complete for now. I'd love to come back and add more short stories, but whether I'll have the chance to is purely up to the gods (and law school overlords) themselves. Thank you all so much for following my little summer project - it's been a pleasure <3 <3 Hope to see you here again soon!
> 
> * * *
> 
> I'm open to your ideas! If there are any specific prompts, AUs, scenarios, etc. that you'd like to see here, please feel free to drop me a line in the comments or [on Tumblr](http://mooodlighting.tumblr.com/ask). I can't promise I'll write every suggestion I receive, but I'd love to hear what you guys would be interested in reading! For reference, the list of One Hundred Ways can be found [here](http://mooodlighting.tumblr.com/post/160642568050/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you).
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading <3
> 
> [fic post](http://mooodlighting.tumblr.com/post/173017172135/these-three-worn-words-i-just-want-to-love-you-in)


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